


Wolves & Birds

by bamelot89



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Minor Character Death, Post-Purgatory, Superwolf, started writing before airing of season 8 supernatural, started writing before season 3 of teen wolf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-14 20:56:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bamelot89/pseuds/bamelot89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>“Help us?” Scott said. “They were <i>lunatics</i>. With freaking <i>machetes</i>.”<br/>~<br/><i>Trails of ashen feathers of a Flaming Bird embedded in the sweat and blood of her Midnight Wolf.</i> -Ange de Lune<br/>~<br/><i>The birds are my eyelashes, the wolves are my hands.</i> -Jeanann Verlee</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

No one knew where Erica and Boyd were. Reason number one why, despite the Jackson being a giant scaly lizard situation being resolved, everything was still not okay. Derek said they’d planned on leaving, but they’d been caught by the Argents. Chris said he’d let them go, but where were they now? Sure, they could’ve just left, but…that didn’t seem right. Gerard was presumably dead, so Jackson was no longer being controlled by him, so what was the danger? Sure, the Argents were still in town, but they followed the code—Chris has made that very clear when he chose the Pack over his own family. And it was really bugging Stiles, not knowing. It felt wrong, off.

So that’s how he ended up on the Hale doorstep, braving the chance of seeing Peter in order to see Derek. He’d tried talking to Scott, but for the most part he was entirely focused on getting Allison back. His whole “I can wait” deal had ended after approximately two days. A week later, it was what all his efforts were on. As he pulled up to the Hale house, he saw Isaac on the porch, which was…looking more torn up than usual. Or… _whoa_ , were they reconstructing? Sure enough, as he walked up he saw Isaac was ripping boards from the porch.

Isaac glanced up and…holy hell, could he at least use tools? Just because he had super strength didn’t mean he should just use his bare hands to tear apart buildings. “Hey, Stiles.”

“Hey…Isaac. Remodeling?”

Isaac smirked a little. “Yeah. Peter’s idea. He thought Derek not having already tried to fix the place up was ridiculous.”

Stiles glanced at the space where the door used to be. “No door? Was that Peter’s idea, too?”

Isaac shifted his gaze to the ground briefly. “Uh…we’re getting a new one.”

“Obviously,” Stiles said, picking up on the fact that—yet another—truth was being hidden from him, but not verbally acknowledging yet. He’d ask Derek. Isaac probably couldn’t disobey the alpha and no doubt the lying wasn’t Isaac’s own idea.

“So is Derek here?”

“He went in to town to get some food,” Isaac explained. “Peter wants to get the electricity going by tonight. He’s gone, too, wanted to get a working fridge at least.”

“Wow, so you guys are really getting stuff done.”

“Yeah.”

There was a pause in conversation.

“Do you know when Derek will be back?” Stiles asked.

Isaac shrugged. “Pretty soon, probably.” He tapped his fingers twice in succession on his jeans. “Do you need to talk to him then?”

“Uh…yeah, I guess. I…yeah.”

Isaac nodded. Awkward situation was awkward. “Is it about Erica and Boyd?” he burst out unexpectedly.

“No. Er…well, yeah.” Stiles sighed. “I mean, I know that Derek thinks they left to join another pack and Scott thinks they’re fine, too, not that he’s that concerned about it at the moment, but I just…something’s off.”

“I agree,” Isaac said, surprising Stiles. “After what happened, they wouldn’t just leave. And we’re not being hunted anymore, not by the Argents, so there’s really no reason for them to still have left.”

 _Not by the Argents._ Stiles hadn’t missed how he’d added on that bit. “Exactly! God, I’m glad someone else thinks so.”

Isaac turned his head slightly, reminding Stiles of Scott when he was listening with his wolfy-senses. “Derek’s here,” Isaac said, and a few seconds later Stiles heard the sound of a car approaching. When it came into view and pulled to a stop in front of the house, Stiles saw Derek’s shoulders tense at seeing him. It was great to feel so appreciated.

“What do you want?” Derek asked as he grabbed a couple bags from the backseat.

Even more appreciated. “What, I can’t just stop by and say hello to my werewolf buddies?”

Derek gave him one of _those looks_ , but Stiles ignored it. Instead, he tried, “Is not having a door a new werewolf fad or something?”

“Stiles, if you’re just here to be irritating, leave.”

“How are you still such a sour wolf? God. Fine, I came because I think something’s wrong with Erica and Boyd.”

“We’ve been over this,” Derek growled as he walked into the house, Stiles following into what might’ve once been a kitchen. Derek began putting things that needed to be cold from the grocery bags into a cooler filled with ice, for lack of a current fridge. Clever.

“Yeah, I know, but seriously. What’s going on? Why is Peter hanging around and why aren’t you concerned about the fact that two members of your pack are totally MIA and what are you not telling me? And don’t look at me like that, I know you are, you’ve done it enough for me to be able to recognize. You can either tell me or I’ll find out on my own.”

Derek walked back out to the car and Stiles went behind him. “I won’t leave until I get some answers,” he persisted.

Derek thrust a 24-pack of Pepsi at him to carry in and grabbed the other two himself. They walked by Isaac on their way back in, who was still working on the porch. “You want to know where Erica and Boyd are?” Derek asked. “I have no idea. I wish I knew, but I don’t.”

Stiles was speechless for a moment, shocked that it had been that easy to get Derek to admit it to him. “Oh…kay. So at least we’re on the same page there. But what _do_ you know?”

Derek set the packs of soda on the floor and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger before speaking. “I know there is another pack.”

“ _What?_ ” Stiles may or may not have dropped his pack of soda, earning a glare from Derek.

“Erica and Boyd thought they heard another pack. I tried to tell them it probably wasn’t—and it wasn’t—but they didn’t want to stick around. I told them not to run, but... It was a trap, obviously.”

“The Argents used a recording,” Stiles said, somewhat to himself.

Derek gave him an angry stare for interrupting. “Sorry,” he mumbled in a sarcastic apology.

“Peter,” Derek said pointedly, “Is hanging around because we need numbers. The other pack that’s here isn’t small and it’s not weak.”

“Okay…and…”

Derek gave a final sigh of resignation. “It’s an alpha pack.”

“ _What?!_ ” Stiles squeaked, which, really? Squeaking? Damn it.

Derek cringed slightly. Oops. Sensitive wolf ears.

“How is that even possible? I mean, Alpha’s have _their_ pack, they don’t…can they even do that? Isn’t there some werewolf law that makes that not possible? Or like—“

“Stiles.”

“—how many are there? Oh god, there’s probably ten times as many of them as there is us—you guys—“

“ _Stiles._ ”

“What?”

“Calm down.”

“Calm down? How am I supposed to _calm down_? There’s a massive pack of _Alphas_ for god’s sake. You didn’t kill me, Scott didn’t kill me, Jackson, didn’t kill me, but I can’t escape death _again_. I am going to _die_ —“

“Stiles. Stop being a girl.”

“Hey! You know, both Allison and Lydia are girls and they’re pretty badass.”

Derek rolled his eyes.

“Okay, okay. What are you gonna do?”

“We’re working on it.”

“We?”

“Peter and me and Isaac.”

“Uhh…what about Scott? Jackson?” Stiles new better than to suggest Allison, and Lydia had been through enough.

“Jackson’s new and still adjusting and Scott won’t join.”

“Do they even know?”

Derek huffed and the huff and puff and blow your house down line came unbidden into Stiles’ mind.

“Seriously? Derek, _Alpha pack_. They need to know.”

“Okay, then tell them.”

“But I can’t—I mean—I don’t even know anything about it—“

“You research everything else.”

“Dude, why can’t you just tell me?”

“Why did you come here, Stiles? You already knew Erica and Boyd were missing.”

“I thought you might know—“

“Know where they went? Who took them? Most likely the Alphas. _Where_ they took them? I have no idea.”

“Okay, okay. Jeez. Can’t you find them by scent?”

“And do what? Rescue them? There are at least fifteen, maybe twenty of them. I’ve got Peter, Isaac, and Jackson if he can even be included yet.”

“You’ve got Scott, too.”

Derek laughed humorlessly. “Right. Scott.”

“Okay, well, maybe he’s not in your pack, like, officially, but…I’m sure he’d help.”

“He’s made it very clear he has no interest.”

“I can talk to him.”

Derek’s eyes flashed red. “Screw Scott.”

“Dude! Hey! Chill out! Should I leave? I can leave.”

“Do whatever you want,” Derek said icily.

Stiles shrugged. “Fine.” He grabbed a can of soda and opened it before going back outside. Isaac’s company was a bit more pleasant. He pointedly ignored the daggers he could feel Derek shooting at his back.

Isaac paused just long enough to glance up. “Derek’s…having a tough time,” he said, because of course he’d been listening in.

“I couldn’t tell.”

Isaac tossed a board over the railing into the yard. “He’s worried about them, too, you know.”

Stiles shook his head, not denying it, but not wanting to hear it either.

They were quiet a while, Isaac working and Stiles drinking thoughtfully. “So why the lack of door?” he eventually asked.

“The Alphas marked it,” Isaac explained openly enough now.

“Marked it? Like…”

Isaac actually laughed and, wow, was that a precious sound. “No, they didn’t piss on it, Stiles. They left their symbol on it.”

“Ahhhh. I see. Well, I don’t, but. What does it look like?”

Isaac ripped up another board and extracted his claws. Stiles hopped up to watch as he carved a simple series of sharp angles with a triangle in the middle. “It’s kind of like a triskelion,” Isaac said, “but harsher.” He turned it more towards Stiles.

“Huh.” Stiles committed the image to memory, planning on researching it when he got home.

Isaac scratched over it. “Are you just gonna hang around here?”

Stiles shrugged. “It’s not like I’ve got anything else do to. Is that a problem?”

“No, no,” Isaac said quickly. “It’s just, Peter’s going to show up eventually, and I know you don’t really like him.”

“Why would I?”

“Well…I know he might be a bit twisted, but his entire family was burned to death and he almost was and he really was only killing people who helped kill him. His family.”

“Tell that to Lydia,” Stiles said quietly. In the past week, he’d felt his emotions towards her gradually shift. Seeing her and Jackson and…and how _happy_ they were…he knew that she’d never feel that way about him. And maybe he never _really_ had about her. Either way, he just wanted to protect her now. Like a sister. And Peter had nearly killed her.

“Okay, that was uncalled for, but he didn’t kill her.”

“He tried to _bite_ me.”

“He offered, is what I heard.”

Stiles folded his arms across his chest stubbornly. “You can think whatever you want of him. I don’t like him. In fact, I kind of hate him, and I don’t think I’ll be stopping any time soon.”

Isaac backed down. “I respect that.” He tilted his head slightly away. “And if you want to avoid him, you might want to leave now.”

He huffed out a sigh. He didn’t really want to go home to an empty house where he’d be left with nothing but his thoughts. “Just because I hate him doesn’t mean I can’t tolerate him.”

“If you say so,” Isaac said before going back to work.

* * *

Dean’s careful. After Purgatory, after Cas had been so broken, and then shoved back together so forcibly…Cas’ sanity was unstable. But unstable Cas was better than crazy Cas, and Dean wasn’t about to shatter that.

Every once in a while, he’d catch Sam watching the two of them. Sometimes they’d be curled up on the bed together, Cas’ head tucked beneath Dean’s chin, his wings—even though Dean couldn’t see them here like in Purgatory, because supernatural beings could only hide so much of themselves down there—wrapped protectively around Dean. And Sam would come in from another room or get back from a bar or a late night food run, and he’d watch them. Or there were the times he and Cas would be sitting on the couch, TV on but neither of them really watching it, and they’d just sit together in silence. Then there were the times when they wouldn’t even be looking at each other. When Cas would actually use a door—or even when he didn’t—and Dean wouldn’t even have to look to know it was him. Or they’d be making supper or something—because Cas, apparently, liked to cook. It gave him something to do with his hands, served as a distraction, a mind occupier—and they wouldn’t even be looking at each other as they passed two eggs, or exchanged knives, or washed dishes afterward. And Sam would sit quietly at the table, observing, not saying anything. Dean knew his brother worried, and he knew that watching them, seeing the way they worked together, liked they’d known each other for several lifetimes, gave him comfort. To know that his brother hadn’t been alone in Purgatory—and that Cas hadn’t either, for that matter—gave him some sort of relief, or peace.

When they were hunting, it was even more apparent. They would fight in sync, protecting each other’s weak spots without even having to think about it, completing each other’s movements. There were times when Dean used to worry he wasn’t spending enough time with Sam, but Sam assured him—on multiple occasions—that he and Cas had been through a lot—like, monster land, a lot—and it was fine. And Dean kind of loved him for that, because even though he and Sam were still a couple of codependent Achilles’ heels, Dean couldn’t just forgot everything he and Cas had been through—in and out of Purgatory.

Dean remembered how, after Bobby died, it had seemed like they were completely alone, with no one but each other. But they hadn’t been. There were still other _humans_ , other _people_ on Earth who wanted to do good. In Purgatory, there were only monsters that wanted to rip your throat out. Over and over and over and over. Sure, there was the small handful that wasn’t dead set on ripping and tearing and shredding, but they would never help. He had literally had no one but Cas, and vice versa. It had kind of put things in perspective.

Dean heard the motel room door open and there was that brief moment of tension where his hand moved to wake Cas, who was asleep with on the floor with his back against the couch, but of course Cas was already awake having sensed the change in Dean, before he remembered it was just Sam. His brother came into the room, a bag with some obscure fast food joint logo on it.

“Supper,” he announced.

Cas wasn’t cooking tonight because they’d just wrapped up with a nest of vamps all he really wanted to do was rest. Yeah, he was still an angel and maybe he wasn’t supposed to sleep and maybe Dean shouldn’t let him, but, like he’d said, mental status: unstable. If Cas wanted to sleep, Dean would let him sleep. Not to mention, Cas seemed to have lost all his angel mojo aside from the flight aspect. Of course, he was awake now.

Instead of moving to the table, Sam joined them on the couch, taking a seat next to Dean after he moved over and Cas sat down. Sam reached for the remote, turned the TV on, and kicked his feet up.

“There’s been a dozen bloody killings—so called animals attacks—in the past week all around the same spot in California. Could be our thing,” Sam said, as he took out his food and passed the bag to Dean, who in turn took out Cas’ food and gave it to him first before getting his own.

“We’ll go check it out in a few days,” he said, because his angel was tired and still didn’t exactly like fighting and they’d literally _just finished_ killing almost a dozen vampires a matter of hours ago.

Sam nodded in understanding. “I think I’m gonna go out for a drink later. Don’t wait up for me.” And Sam wasn’t being rude by not inviting them, he just knew that after a hunt Cas wouldn’t want to go anywhere and Dean wouldn’t want to leave Cas.

“Don’t forget we’re checking out tomorrow,” Dean reminded.

“I won’t.”

 

After they were finished eating and Sam had left, Cas fell asleep with his head on Dean’s lap and, yeah, Dean ran his hands through Cas’ hair because Cas could be a bit of a cat sometimes.

Everything was fine at first. But then again, everything was always fine before it wasn’t. Cas started stirring, minute amounts. But Dean knew what followed and he also knew he couldn’t wake him. It was times like these when he wished he’d demand Cas not sleep—because he knew if he said not to, Cas would listen. The shaking came next. Uncontrollable shivering, a cold that went deeper than bones. It was Purgatory cold. The outside temperature could be freezing or a hundred degrees, it didn’t matter. Dean remembered what if felt like—like your very essence was a hundred degrees below zero, all the time. At first, he’d thought Cas couldn’t feel it when they were there, but then it became apparent that he’d just been doing a fantastic job of hiding it. And now his brave little angel couldn’t seem to forget it.

He pulled Cas closer and tightened his arms around him, he mumbled whatever came into his head, remembering Cas having once said his voice was comforting. This time it was what was beneath the Impala’s hood. He rambled about how the different parts worked together, how he knew if something was wrong with his Baby.

Then came the horrible, broken whimpers. Dean had seen Cas cry once: two days after they arrived back on Earth. And that had honestly been one of the most horrific experiences of his life. Seeing an angel cry wasn’t right. And, even though Cas never full on cried during his nightmares, the whimpering was enough to make Dean wish he could wrap Cas up so tightly that he’d just melt into him and he could protect his friend from everything.

After an eternity of minutes or hours or who knows, Cas finally woke. He didn’t open his eyes, but Dean knew, because he stilled and grew quiet again. His fingers were digging into Dean’s arms and he loosened them but didn’t let go.

They sat for another indistinguishable amount of time before Dean picked Cas up and carried him over to the bed. He left him there while he went to get two glasses of water. Cas was sitting up when he got back, fingers holding the edge of his sleeves to cover most of his hands, and knees pulled up to his chest. He’d stopped apologizing about the nightmares long ago, unfortunately after Dean had snapped at him to quit. Then, of course, Dean had apologized a million times for snapping at Cas, but he still didn’t apologize after that.

He took one glass silently from Dean and Dean sat beside him on the bed after grabbing the extra blankets off the floor. They carried six, in addition to the two Sam and Dean had used for nights spent in the Impala in the winter, for Cas alone. Dean didn’t know if it was an angel-slash-bird thing or if it was something to do with remembering the cold, but either way, he liked sleeping amongst heaps of blankets, so the Winchesters let him. Of course, carrying around that many extra blankets cut down on their wardrobe. (Cas insisted he didn’t care that he only had two pairs of jeans, two shirts, and a pair of plaid pajama pants, and he was an angel, so why should he, really?) And his trench coat was in the Impala’s trunk, along with Dean’s amulet which he’d found out Sam had been holding onto all this time. Leave it to Dean’s brother to make him feel like a total ass after getting back from Purgatory.

“Are you okay with going out to California?” he asked Cas as he arranged the blankets around them.

Cas took a small sip of water before speaking. “I’ll go wherever you go.”

Dean held in a sigh and continued adjusting the blankets. Some days were like this, where Cas would fall back into the obedient-soldier-mindset Dean hated, but he did his best to tolerate them and not be too harsh. Cas’d probably be better tomorrow.

“Would you rather stay here?” Dean asked him.

“I like it here.” And Dean knew they weren’t talking about Nebraska vs. California now. They had moved to a bigger spectrum.

“Alright, buddy,” Dean said gently, taking the glass of water from Cas and placing it beside his on the nightstand because, once, he’d made the mistake of leaving a drink in Cas’ hand when he was like this and when he’d woke up the next morning, he found Cas still awake, in the same position, still holding the glass.

Once again—unstable.

Dean didn’t bother with the lights. Cas curled up against his side.

“Wake me up in the morning,” Dean said, and even though Cas didn’t respond, Dean knew he’d heard him.

* * *

Okay, so Stiles Stilinski wasn’t Peter Hale’s biggest fan and he may or may not have let that show, contrary to his statement of being able to tolerate Derek’s uncle. And, okay, he’d thrown that unopened can of Pepsi at the back of his head, but _he’d been asking for it_ , and it wasn’t like he didn’t catch it anyway, what with his stupid super werewolf senses. Stiles didn’t think about the fact that he’d noticed Derek growl after Peter made a comment about the time he’d offered Stiles the bite and it was a _snarky_ comment, but Stiles couldn’t remember it, but he knew it was the final straw before he’d thrown the soda.

So, yeah, Stiles left and went back home.

And then he researched Alpha packs.

Given, there wasn’t a lot on the subject, but he’d found a little. For example, they were a lot more dangerous than your average wolf pack. Thanks, internet. Thanks. Actually, the only really valuable piece of information it gave him, was that they showed up whenever there was a new Alpha. Which led Stiles to wonder, had they been here since Peter killed Laura? Anyhow, their main purpose upon arrival was getting the new Alpha to join their pack. And—damn you, Google—they would go to extreme lengths to get what they wanted. What was “extreme lengths” for an Alpha pack? Threaten to wax that extra hair that grew in when they wolfed out? Or would that being doing a favor?

Stiles really wanted to know more, but he didn’t want to have to see Peter again and Derek had probably already convinced himself he’d said too much to Stiles and Isaac most likely didn’t know much more than Stiles.

Stiles shut his laptop and plopped down on his bed. He blamed Peter for all this. If Peter hadn’t killed Laura, then Derek wouldn’t have had to kill Peter, and none of this crap would’ve ever had to happen. If he could erase one person’s existence in this world, it would be Peter’s. Or maybe Kate Argent’s. She was kind of a bitch. Okay, if he could erase two—

“Stiles!” his Dad called from somewhere that wasn’t his room. “You home?”

“Yeah, Dad! In my room!” he shouted through the closed door.

A few seconds later, his dad knocked and Stiles opened the door. “What is it?” he asked upon seeing his dad’s expression.

“I don’t want you staying out late for a while, alright?”

“Why? What happened?”

“Those so called animal attacks that were supposedly over? It looks like they’re not.”

Damn Alphas. Stiles was willing to bet his jeep it was them. Well, maybe not his jeep, but…

“Who died?” And that sounded a little more morbid than what he’d been going for.

“Three people at the gas station. Two employees and one customer. Slaughtered, like the ones before.”

Stiles wondered if Derek knew about the murders yet.

“Okay, Dad. I won’t stay out late.” Except he probably would.

His dad announced he was going to shower and hit the hay, and Stiles figured he might as well, too. The internet wasn’t giving him anything on packs of Alphas, and it was too late to go anywhere—not to mention his dad had just told him not to be out late. So Stiles peeled off his clothes and changed into a t-shirt and some pajama pants. As he made his way over to shut his window (and, okay, a werewolf could just jump through it, but maybe they didn’t want to make a ruckus) he glanced out and saw Derek looking up from the ground. And—what? Derek?

He didn’t run away when Stiles saw him, instead stared directly at him. Why was he creeping on Stiles now? He thought they’d moved past that awkward stage after Derek had become Alpha. Apparently not. At least this time he wasn’t _in Stiles’ room_. Though, Stiles almost wished he was at the moment, because he kind of really wanted to have a nice little chat with the guy about “extreme lengths” and see if he knew about the murders yet and _why was he still standing there?_ Stiles figured he had some time before his dad got out of the shower, so he left his window open and went down to the front door to talk to Derek, but when he walked around to the side of the house, Derek wasn’t there. Okay, cool. Just leave when actually using words became a possibility.

Stiles went back inside and up to his room and— _holy crap!_

“What the _hell_ —“

Derek brought a harsh finger to his lips and Stiles lowered his voice.

“As I was saying, _what the hell?_ I went out to talk to you.”

“And I came in to talk to you,” Derek said gruffly.

And Stiles was not going to get into some petty argument with a werewolf. He sighed. “Okay, what? Did you hear about the murders tonight?”

Derek nodded. “But not much. I wanted to know if your dad knew anything about it.”

“He just got back from there, and he’s pretty tired. He didn’t say much to me about it, other than it was a complete bloodbath. Was it the Alphas?”

Derek frowned at him.

“What?”

“Don’t go out until this gets figured out.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay, Dad. It’s not like they couldn’t get in if they wanted to kill me.”

“Well, if they don’t _see_ you, maybe they won’t think to _kill_ you, idiot,” Derek said, shoving Stiles back against the wall.

“Alright, alright! God, calm down.”

Derek let him go and backed away towards the window. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“Everything I do is stupid,” Stiles said with a smile.

Derek gave him an “I’m serious” look and left through the window, which didn’t make much sense because he was a wolf, not a bird, but whatever.

 

Sleep didn’t come as easily as he thought it would, so Stiles texted Scott, quickly filling him in on the murders and saying to be careful, then texted Lydia and told her to tell Jackson about it in case he didn’t know already. He didn’t even bother telling Scott to tell Allison—it was apparently impossible for him to know anything and keep it from Allison. Even when they were broken up, for god’s sake. He was certain enough that Derek would have told Isaac that he didn’t take the time to text him, too, except then he did, because he absolutely could not fall asleep no matter how many freakin’ werewolves he counted. Isaac answered fastest, despite getting the message last, saying,

_Derek told me. Be careful._

And seriously? Why did everyone think he was going to do something stupid? Allison said her dad had heard about it and was looking into it.

He didn’t get an answer from Scott, and all Lydia said was, _Great._

Stiles didn’t mention the Alpha pack.

 

For the next week, Stiles kept tabs on his dad’s police radio whenever possible. Two more killings occurred in Beacon Hills alone, and in surrounding towns he found out the total murder count added up to a dozen or so. Which was kind of a lot, because, hello, this wasn’t San Francisco.

On Saturday, he got a text from Derek saying for everyone to go to his house that afternoon. _Everyone_ probably meant he’d sent it to their whole dysfunctional little family (because, yes, even if they hated each other half—or more than half—of the time, they were still just like an extremely dysfunctional family in his own mind. Emphasis on extremely dysfunctional.)

Stiles made a point of being a few minutes late, just so he was guaranteed someone else would be there besides him in case Derek wasn’t there right away for some reason and Peter was. Which was probably really stupid because Isaac basically lived there now, so why would Stiles have ended up alone with Peter? But being safe couldn’t hurt anything.

Allison, Lydia, Jackson, and Isaac were all there when he showed up. He was a little surprised to see Allison, but then he caught Lydia having some sort of intense stare-down with someone on the other side of the room. When he saw it was Derek, he quickly put the pieces together, realizing Lydia had probably invited Allison which was pretty awesome of her considering everything that had been kept from her for so long.

Derek finally rolled his eyes and walked into the kitchen. “Did Scott say he wasn’t coming?” he asked without turning around.

Everyone (except Derek) turned to look expectantly at Stiles. “What? Why me?”

“Because you’re his best friend,” Jackson said in that irritating better-than-you voice.

“Well, I haven’t heard from him,” Stiles said, crossing his arms and plopping down on the—holy hell there was a couch!

Lydia looked at him like he should be doing something.

“What?”

“Call him or something!” she said obviously.

“We can just start without him and catch him up if he decides to get his werewolf ass over here.”

Derek appeared to glare at him.

“God, okay! I’ll call him.” He reluctantly got his phone out and dialed Scott’s number. Perhaps several past events had led him to not enjoying calling Scott. Mostly because a) he never answered, and b) when he did answer, he hung up before Stiles could say anything. I.e. Derek, swimming pool, Jack-ima.

“What is it.”

Wonders never cease.

“Dude, where are you?” Stiles asked.

“At home, trying to sleep, why?”

“Because you’re supposed to be at Derek’s, moron.”

“What?”

Stiles sighed in annoyance. “Check your texts. Actually, no, just get over here. Everyone’s waiting on you.”

He ended the call before Scott could say anything back. Ha. How did _that_ feel? “He should be here shortly.”

Twenty minutes later, Scott (asshole) showed up. And before him, Peter arrived. Hence (asshole). Leaving him with Peter. Well…he had two other people and two other werewolves

He mumbled an empty apology when he came through the door. Stiles wondered if maybe something had gone down between him and Allison. Usually all his efforts were focused on getting her back, but now he sat in a chair as far away as possible from her. Super weird.

“Now that everyone’s here,” Derek said none too subtly. “There’s something all of you should know.” Stiles swore he paused for dramatic effect. “There’s another pack in town.”

“Oh my god, they killed those people, didn’t they?” Allison guessed.

Derek nodded. “And they’re not just your average wolf pack.” He paused again, but Peter jumped in after rolling his eyes.

“They’re an Alpha pack. Well over a dozen, but definitely not two dozen.

“Why are they here?” Lydia asked.

“Because Derek became Alpha,” Peter said.

“They originally came after Peter was Alpha,” Derek clarified. “They just…took their time. When they finally arrived, I’d already become the new Alpha.”

“So…what?” Jackson asked. “They didn’t just come to welcome you to the club.”

“No,” Derek said. “They’re always looking to enlarge their pack.”

Stiles gaped. “You mean—they came for _you_?”

“Maybe. But”—he looked at the rest of the group—“they’re the ones that took Boyd and Erica. I think maybe they want to convince them to kill me. Getting them to join their pack will probably be easier.”

“This is so screwed up,” Stiles muttered, running his hands over his buzz cut.

“Scott, you’ve been awfully quiet,” Peter observed.

“This crap never ends,” he said, sounding more like an emo teenager than he probably intended to.

“Welcome to life,” Peter said. “Deal with it, Scott.”

But Scott was seriously acting like a child right now, and he marched out the door without another word. Isaac was shifting uncomfortably in his seat, glancing at Derek, then the door and… _oh my god, he’s leaving, too._ Stiles noticed Derek made no attempt to stop him though. Yay, free will.

Allison cleared her throat. “So what are we going to do?” Maybe eager wasn’t the right word, but she was definitely ready to redeem herself.

“I believe they have Erica and Boyd and…” Derek cast such a brief glance at Stiles that if he blinked he would’ve missed it, “…we have to try to get them back.”

“Okay, then,” Lydia said, sitting up a little straighter. “How do we do that?”

“I want to make sure everyone knows what this means—an Alpha pack is ten times worse than your standard pack, and they’re numbers are far greater than ours.”

“Up to two dozen, you said.” Lydia flicked her hair over her shoulder. “I’m in.”

Jackson turned his head to her and opened his mouth to say something, but Lydia ended it with, “Shut up, Jackson.”

He turned back to Derek. “I’ll help, too,” he said resignedly.

“And of course I’ll do everything I can,” Allison said.

“I’m all for getting the pups back,” he said with a grin.

“Great,” Peter said. “So that’s an Alpha, two werewolves, one hunter, and two humans. Against twenty Alphas. Great odds.”

“We can still ask Scott and Isaac,” Derek said. Stiles didn’t mention anything about the other days’ _Screw Scott_ comment.

“I could ask my dad,” Allison offered. “If everyone’s okay with that.”

Derek’s brow furrowed. “I’ll think about it and let you know. If anyone gets a chance to talk to Scott, do. In the mean time, be careful. The full moon’s coming up.”

“Speaking of,” Lydia said. “I was wondering if Jackson could stay here. For the full moon. We don’t know how he’ll react yet, and just to be safe, we thought it would be best for him to be here with you.”

Derek nodded. “Of course. Bring him over.”

“And I want to stay, too.”

This took Derek by surprise. “You…that’s not a good idea.”

“Isn’t it? Allison was Scott’s anchor. I helped Jackson.”

Peter chuckled to himself. “Remember, Derek. Never underestimate the power of human love.”

Derek whipped his head around to glare at his uncle before giving in. “Fine. Everyone can leave now.”

 

Sunday came and went, and Monday it was back to school. There was only about a month left, but every day seemed longer than the last. Stiles tried to talk to Scott about helping out with getting Erica and Boyd back, but he never got a straight answer. He gave up and asked him if he wanted to come over after school, but Scott said he was going to hang out with Isaac. Like, okay, where did that come from?

“Oh. Okay, cool. I’ll…see you tomorrow then.”

As he left to get to his jeep, Lydia waved at him from across the parking lot. He gave an answering wave and she gestured for him to come over. He did so without complaint, because, hey, this was Lydia, and even if he wasn’t harboring a crazy crush on her, he still thought she was awesome and they were almost sort of friends now.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I was wondering if you knew what’s going on between Scott and Allison.”

“You noticed it, too?”

Lydia nodded. “Usually he’s pining after her.”

“I know. I wish I knew, but he hasn’t said anything to me.”

“Allison hasn’t been the most sharing either.” She glanced over Stiles’ shoulder and he turned to see Jackson approaching. “I’ll see you later, Stiles,” she said. “Let me know if you hear anything.”

He gave her a friendly smile. “Sure thing, Lyd.” He walked back across the parking lot to his jeep.

Oh.

Oh god.

He’d just called her Lyd.

He, Stiles Stilinski, had just spoken to her, Lydia Martin, using a nickname.

Was that legal? Was that considered rude? Did she even like nicknames?

Why was he freaking out?

In his pocket, his phone buzzed. It was from Lydia. _Should I start calling you Jar?_

He let out a sigh of relief. Good. She thought it was funny. Or at least she wasn’t pissed.

 

As he got out of his jeep once he was home, he glanced over his shoulder in time to see a black classic car speed by. He only noticed because Beacon Hills didn’t get a lot of well-maintained old cars. He let out a low whistle and turned to go inside.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a friendly reminder that I started writing this before season eight of spn aired & before all the season 3 spoiler teaser things came out during comic con. So those might have an influence at some points, but don't expect this fic to follow with those. (:  
> Also, this is unbeta'd.

Cas was fine when they first got there. He made them sandwiches and microwaved soup for supper (small town motels only had so much in the way of kitchen appliances.) They all hit the sack, but in the middle of the night, Cas woke up screaming and Dean knew it would be a while before they could start on the case.

Cas had these episodes every once in a while. He’d be totally fine and then out of the blue he would relapse into Crazy Cas state. And not naked-covered-in-bees-crazy, but totally-mental-patient-broken-screaming-crying-crazy.

All Dean had to do was look at Sam and his brother nodded once before he began stuffing things hurriedly in bags. They couldn’t stay at a motel when Cas was like this. Either someone would complain about the noise or someone would call the police. So finding an abandoned place was always fun. Often times, they ended up staying in the Impala or in the middle of nowhere. At first, Sam thought it was weird to spend the night in an open field, but then he realized that, hello, a year in Purgatory, and he didn’t say anything about it again.

So they drove out of town, Dean holding Cas in the backseat and Sam in the front.

They went a ways into the woods before stopping.

“Is here alright?” Sam asked.

Dean nodded once before opening the car door. Cas was currently lying perfectly still across his lap, eyes wide open. Dean scooped him up and lifted him out of the car, Sam shutting the door behind them.

Sam shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Is it really okay to be out here? We did come to hunt.”

“If we’re in trouble, Cas’ll snap out of it,” Dean said. That was what happened in Purgatory, after all.

Sam got the blankets out of the back and spread them out alongside the Impala, three on the ground, and waited for Dean to lay Cas down before heaping the other five around him.

“Should one of us keep watch?” Sam asked.

“I will.” Dean would be up with Cas anyway.

Sam nodded in compliance and laid down on the blanketed ground. Dean sat on the other side of Cas, tucking the blankets around him and pulling him closer. He waited a good hour, just to be sure Sam was totally asleep, and then starting singing—very, very softly, like he would on those nights that were especially cold, or when he and Cas were separated and he felt utterly alone.

 

_Hey Jude, don’t make it bad._

_Take a sad song and make it better._

_Remember to let her into your heart,_

_then you can start to make it better._

_Hey Jude, don’t be afraid._

_You were made to go out and get her._

_The minute you let her under your skin,_

_then you begin to make it better._

Cas wrapped his fingers around a hunk of Dean’s jacket and Dean trailed his fingers through Cas’ hair. He just wanted to make his angel better and he didn’t have any idea of where to start. He didn’t know who to ask, he didn’t know where to look. All the other angels they used to know were dead—and not in Purgatory, by the way, so where the hell did they go when they died?—along with any humans that might’ve been able to help.

 

_And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain,_

_don’t carry the world upon your shoulders._

_For well you know that it’s a fool who plays it cool_

_by making his world a littler colder._

“Dean, we can’t fall asleep.” Dean squeezed his eyes shut and wished for all the world he could trade Cas places. “We can’t even blink—they’ll catch us off guard. We have to be ready.”

“I know, Cas. You just shut your eyes. I’ll keep watch.”

“I don’t need sleep. You do.”

“You’re tired, Cas. Go to sleep.”

“They don’t have bees in Purgatory.”

“I know, Cas. I know.” Dean continued running his hands through Cas’ hair and he was quiet for a while, so Dean went back to softly singing.

 

_Hey Jude, don’t let me down._

_You have found her, now go and get her._

_Remember to let her into your heart,_

_then you can start to make it better._

“Dean, do you remember when I found you in Hell?”

Dean should his head. “I don’t, Cas. I wish I did.”

“There were so many hands there, reaching and pulling. Sometimes there were Hellhounds. Do you remember Hellhounds?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, flashing back briefly to the tearing of his flesh, ugly snarls, blood spraying on every available surface. “I remember the Hellhounds.” And they’d been over this a dozen times before, but he let it play out again. Cas always ended it differently.

“We should sew the button back on my trench coat later today,” Cas said. “And later we can go to the garden.”

“Sounds good. But you need to sleep now, okay buddy?” He didn’t let his voice crack.

“Sing the song Mary sang,” Cas said quietly. “I liked that song.”

Dean tilted his head back to look at the stars and made sure he wouldn’t lose control of his voice before singing.

 

_So let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin,_

_you’re waiting for someone to perform with._

_And don’t you know that it’s just you, hey Jude, you’ll do,_

_the movement you need is on your shoulder._

_Hey Jude, don’t make it bad._

_Take a sad song and make it better._

_Remember to let her under your skin,_

_then you’ll begin to make it_

_better better better better better better, oh._

_Na, na na, na na na na, na na na na, hey Jude…_

Cas had passed out, but begun thrashing in his sleep. At first it was soundless and Dean carried on softly, but then Cas starting shouting and screaming and Dean held him to his chest in an attempt to keep him from hurting himself. Sam woke up and didn’t say anything, just grabbed Cas’ hand to give him something to hold onto. Dean leaned his head back against the cool black surface of the only home he’d ever known and kept his eyes looking up because he could only watch his best friend snap so many times.

 

* * *

 

Tuesday morning, Scott practically jumped Stiles first thing at the school. “Did you hear it last night? Oh my god, it was the worst sound I have ever heard in my entire life. Do you know anything about it? It sounded like whining pipes, but about twenty octaves higher.”

“Scott, I literally have no idea whatsoever as to what you’re talking about.”

“That screeching sounded!” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing it the world.

“Uhhh…no werewolf super senses, sorry. I heard nothing.”

“How could you—it was _so loud_. I thought my eardrums were going to explode—I couldn’t imagine being any closer, my whole _head_ would’ve exploded.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t just your pipes?”

“No! Stiles, I’m serious. Have you heard from Isaac? It might’ve been coming from the woods. If it was too close—“

“Scott. Chill. Did you call him?” Stiles didn’t make any remark on the fact that it was _Isaac_ Scott immediately jumped to.

“Yeah, but he hasn’t answered. And—“

“Derek?”

Scott’s expression dropped.

“Dude, what the hell, if you’re so concerned, man up and call the damn Alpha. He doesn’t bite. Well…okay, bad analogy, but still.”

“Why don’t you call him?” Scott said.

“Me? Why do I have to call him?”

“You two get along!”

Stiles was torn between laughing hysterically and asking Scott if he was high, but a series of half a dozen unexplainable expression crossed his face in a matter of seconds instead. “Derek and I _do not_ get along.”

“Just call him. Please?”

Stiles nodded, giving in. “Fine, right. Call the werewolf Alpha living with the homeless teen wolf and creepy wolf uncle in the middle of the forest to ask if they heard anyone’s pipes whining last night. Yup, no problem.” He dug his phone out of his pocket and scrolled to Derek’s number. One ring. Two rings.

“What?”

“Hey, so Scott’s a big baby and didn’t feel like talking to you, but he claims to have heard some freaky loud screeching sound last night—which he insists I should have heard, but I didn’t—and he wants to know if his new BFF Isaac is okay.”

There were several beats of silence.

“Isaac’s fine.”

“Great. So Scott was just having some wacked out dream.”

“No,” Derek said. “We heard it, too. It had to be within two miles of the property. We have no idea what it is.”

Stiles had the sudden urge to drive back home and crawl back into his bed. “Well, that’s just awesome.”

“We’re going to check it out,” Derek said. “We’re hoping for a scent or prints.”

“Uh, what if whatever it is is still there?” Stiles questioned.

“Then we kill it,” Derek said simply.

“Wha—no! You can’t—I mean, you don’t even know what it is! You don’t even know _how_ to kill it _because_ you don’t know what it is.”

“Tear anything apart enough and it’ll die.”

“Okay, could you just, like, _not engage in battle_? Go out there and look around, whatever, but don’t provoke it like some snake or something. It might not even be a bad thing. Maybe it’s some harmless, lost…I don’t know, _something_.”

“Stiles, there’s three of us.”

“Yeah, and if you wait, you can have Jackson, Scott, and Allison, too.”

“We also might lose any chance of finding it. Believe me, if you had heard it…just trust me. I’ll call if we find anything.” He ended the call.

Stiles didn’t take time to think about the fact that Derek had just said he would call him, because then _his_ head would probably explode. “Happy?” he asked Scott, knowing there was no need for him to relay any of what had just been said.

His best friend was wearing a ridiculous pouting face. “Yeah.”

“Good. Because we have this thing called class, and it kind of starts in about two minutes.”

 

Derek called during lunch and said they’d lost the scent. Apparently whatever it was had a car and two humans. And it smelled kind of human itself.

 

* * *

 

Cas screamed himself to sleep, and when he woke up a couple hours before dawn and met Dean’s eyes, the first words out of his mouth were, “Sorry.” Which was a good sign, because Dean had once made the mistake of yelling at him for apologizing too much, so if he wasn’t listening, they had the old Cas back. Dean could breathe again.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Dean said.

Cas sat up and Dean let him, though he really just wanted to keep holding him, because maybe if he held him long enough, he’d stay put together. _Cas the angel had a great fall, and all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Cas together again._

“We’re here for the hunt,” Cas said. It wasn’t a question.

“We haven’t started yet,” Sam said as he picked up his blanket and went to put them in the trunk.

“Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“You have to let go of my hand.”

“Oh.” Dean immediately released his grip on Cas hand. “Right.”

Cas quickly went about folding his blankets and Dean took his and shuffled some things around in the trunk before putting it towards the back. Cas stood beside him to put his away.

Dean looked at Sam. “What do you think you’re doing?” He had the car keys in one hand and the other on the door handle.

“Uh…driving?”

“No, you’re not.” Dean snatched the keys away from his gigantor brother and he rolled his eyes. “Who wants breakfast?” Dean asked as Sam went around to the other side of the car.

 

So they lucked out and found a 24/7 diner in Beacon Hills. Maybe there still was a God hanging around somewhere. Aside from the employees, there were only two other people there. It looked like a dad and his daughter, probably in high school. The dad glanced up, probably wondering what the hell three grown men were doing together at a diner at 4am and his daughter followed his gaze. Dean offered a smile as they found a booth and took a seat, which the two of them returned.

A middle-aged waitress came by with three menus and asked them what they’d like to drink. Dean got them three Cokes, and she said she’d be back in a few minutes to take their orders.

“So do you have any ideas?” Cas asked.

Sam shrugged. “All I got from the papers was they all died bloody. Supposedly animal attacks, but that’s the go-to for the papers, so it doesn’t say much.”

“Did they mention any missing organs?” Dean asked, careful to keep his voice low.

Sam shook his head. “Some kills were made in the same night though. One morning they found three bodies together. A group of college kids that left a party late.”

“Town or country?” Dean asked.

“In town. But some of them were found in the middle of nowhere.”

“Okay, so place doesn’t matter and neither does neatness.”

“Vampires?” Cas questioned.

“Some of the kills were made during the day.”

Dean rubbed his jaw. “Great. How about we focus on enjoying an early breakfast and think about this later?” He cast a brief glance to the father and daughter, but they were having their own conversation.

Sam followed Dean’s gaze and agreed.

“…no, Dad. Me and Scott aren’t getting back together.”

“I’m not saying you will, but I just want you to know that if you _did_ , I would be okay with it. I was mixed up before, but he’s a good kid.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

“If you say so. Now what about Peter, is…”

Dean stopped eavesdropping when the waitress came back.

 

* * *

 

Tuesday after school, Stiles got a call from Derek. Actually shocking. “Yeah?” he didn’t have time to think of a witty opening line before he answered.

“I was thinking,” Derek said.

“Well, that’s a surprise.”

“Shut up. If whatever we heard was human or had humans with it, they might be staying in town.”

“Okay, and?”

“There are two motels. Peter and Isaac are going to one, and you and I are going to the other.”

“Oh, are we?”

He could almost see Derek rolling his eyes, making one of his sour wolf faces. “Yes.”

“What about Scott?”

“Are you really asking me that?”

“Well, he’s a werewolf, you’re a werewolf, it makes sense.”

There were several seconds of silence and, despite Derek not being right in front of him, Stiles imagining his glare was enough. “Okay, okay! Fine! Who’s driving?”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Alrighty, then,” Stiles said, though Derek had already hung up.

At first, he didn’t see why they needed two people, but, thinking about it, he realized it made sense. If someone had to follow someone but someone else still needed to keep watch for someone. Yeah. That. And real nice of Derek to tell Stiles how long they would be there. He grabbed a couple cherry Cokes. He briefly wondered if it would be out of line to ask Derek to stop for some curly fries, and took a bag of pretzels from the cupboard instead. He grabbed a jacket and shoved his phone into his pocket and he was ready to go.

 

Stiles tried to open the pretzel bag quietly, because they were on a stake out and silence seemed right, but—let’s be real—it was impossible to open a bag of pretzels quietly, and even more impossible for Stiles not to talk.

“So, like, what are we supposed to be doing? Who are we looking for? Or…this isn’t really a matter of looking, more of smelling, I guess. I really don’t get how I’m going to be any help—“

“Oh my god, Stiles. Do you see the numbers on each of the doors? Those are room numbers. If someone comes out of one of those room numbers and I recognize the scent, then we see what car they get in. If all three of them go, we follow them in my car. If only one or two of them go, I follow, you stay.”

“Okay, but…shouldn’t we have done some research or something first? I mean—“

“What are you going to look up? Things that scream really loud?”

Stiles tried not to snicker.

Derek held one hand up and the other below the steering wheel. “Maturity. You,” he said.

“Okay, fine. Banshee.”

“What?”

“Banshees. They shriek.”

“Banshee’s aren’t human, genius.”

“Not typically, but who knows— _I didn’t get to do any research_.”

“I’m sure this place has wifi.”

“ _I am not using my phone to look up your shit._ ”

“Then stop bitching.” Derek snatched one of Stiles’ cherry Cokes.

“Hey—ugh, asshole.”

Derek took a few swallows. “I drove here.”

“You drug me here.”

“And I’m already regretting it.”

Stiles glanced out the window and spotted the classic car he’d seen yesterday or the day before. And maybe he wasn’t a vehicle genius, but that was a _damn_ nice car. He heard his pretzel bag crinkling, but his hand wasn’t in it.

“Derek!”

“Stiles, I swear to God, if you don’t shut up, I will rip your tongue out.”

“Derek, I swear to God, if you don’t stop stealing my food, I will—“

“Shh!” Derek’s hand covered Stiles’ mouth and he gestured for him to sink lower. Stiles did as he was told, because Derek was serious.

He rolled up the windows and simultaneously turned the key in the ignition, and tore out of the parking lot.

“I’m guessing that wasn’t the shrieking thing?”

Derek didn’t take his eyes of the road. “Alphas.” He grabbed his phone and dialed a number. “We were at the motel,” he said after a few seconds, “and there were other Alphas there…yeah, I got out of there…well, what was I supposed to do?...right, of course, that’s a great idea…no, he’s not…I’ll see…bye.”

“Can I get up now and what’s going on?”

Derek ignored the first question. “If one of the Alphas saw you with me, you’d probably end up on their target list.”

“Right. Extreme lengths.” Derek gave him a funny look. “So they’ll kill people to try and get you join them…like when Peter wanted Scott to kill us?”

“Peter never wanted him to do that.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Stiles, can you just _get past Peter_. We have bigger problems right now.”

“We? They want me dead!”

“They might not’ve caught your scent—“

“We’re not that lucky,” Stiles said.

“Is there anyone at Lydia’s or Jackson’s?”

“Lydia’s mom's are on vacation this week.”

“Great. We’re going there.”

“What’s wrong with my house?”

“It reeks Stilinski,” Derek said. “If they look for you or happen to pass by it, they’ll know you live there.”

“I can’t draw them to Lydia’s!”

“Her family will overpower your smell.”

Stiles felt like BO in need of perfume. “And I’m supposed to tell my dad what?”

“Tell him you’re staying at Scott’s.” Derek tossed his phone at Stiles. “Text Peter and tell him we’re going to Lydia’s.”

Stiles scooted up in his seat and scrolled through Derek’s contacts.

 

Lydia was waiting on the front porch when they got there. Stiles got out of the car, waiting expectantly for Derek. “Aren’t you coming?”

“The less wolf scent here, the better.”

“Uh…what about Jackson? He’s here all the time.”

“I’ll tell him to stay away from the Martins’ for now.”

“And how are you gonna be able to wrap this up within a couple days?”

“I don’t know how long it’ll take.”

“I’ve gotta go home sometime—“

“Do you want to stay or alive or go home?”

Stiles refused to pout. Instead, he slammed the stupid shiny black fancy expensive car door and marched up to the Martins’ porch.

Wait.

Shiny. Black. Expensive.

He spun back around, “Derek!” and ran back to the Camaro where Derek was rollig down the window. “At the motel—in the parking lot. Yesterday I saw a car go by as I got home from school—it was a classic and it was black and maybe the sixties or seventies, I’m not sure. I thought it was weird, because all the rich kids here drive new cars. But then today, I saw it again.”

“In the parking lot,” Derek finished.

Stiles nodded. “Right.”

“I’ll check it out later,” Derek said.  “First priority now is keeping the Alphas away from you.”

“Good. I like that idea. But someone should stay at the motel and keep watch.”

Derek looked dubious.

“Just one person. Wolf. Whatever. I’ll tell Scott to do it.”

“Ask Allison,” Derek growled tersely. “I’ll need Scott. And just stay here.” With that, he sped off.

Lydia came up behind Stiles. “So,” she said, “it seems like everybody wants a piece of you.”

 

* * *

 

“Maybe it’s just not our gig,” Dean said, letting the newspaper fall onto the table.

“You don’t really believe that.”

Dean shrugged. “So what? We’ve got nothing, Sam. Maybe it really is just animals.”

Sam laughed humorlessly to himself. “Right. Some of this is too grotesque to be done by an animal. And why would any animal use its kill to decorate a tree? Or leave a carcass in an alley in the middle of a city?”

“Someone’s been sitting in their car outside for over an hour.”

Dean and Sam turned to look at Cas, who was sitting at the table by the window.

“Who?” they asked in unison.

Cas vanished for several seconds, then reappeared standing by the couch. “It’s the same girl that was in the diner this morning.”

Dean stood up. “What’s she doing?”

“It looks like she waiting for something,” Cas said. “She’s been glancing frequently at the Impala.”

Dean turned to Sam. “Do we know her?”

Sam shook his head.  “No. And, if we did, why would she be waiting in her car that long?”

“I really hope we didn’t kill her mom or something.”

“She didn’t react this morning,” Sam said. “And it looked like she was with her dad.”

“Well, let’s go talk to mystery girl.”

“Hold on,” Sam said. “Maybe this is some weird mix up. We’ll wait it out. If she’s waiting for us, then she’ll either follow us or jump us, right?”

Dean thought for a second a shrugged. “Fair enough.”

 

The hours ticked by, the girl was still in the parking lot, and they weren’t any closer to figuring out their mystery monster. Over the period of time, Cas’ frown had been growing deeper and deeper. Finally Dean had to ask.

“Okay, what is it, grumpy?”

Cas continued looking at an imaginary spot on the floor. “I know her.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “We saw her earlier today.”

“I know that,” Cas said, a note of irritation entering his voice. “I mean I know who she is. I just…I can’t _remember._ I’ve got all the information in my head, but I can’t just find it right away, now I have to sort through it—“

“Hey.” Dean got up and knelt in front of Cas, forcing the fallen angel to look at him. “If you know it, you’ll figure it out. Don’t push yourself too hard. Okay?”

Cas bit his lower lip, and it was such a human gesture that it almost hurt Dean to see. “I’m an angel, Dean. It shouldn’t be this hard to sift through—I shouldn’t even _have_ to sift through anything, I should just _know_ , like you know your eyes are green, and Sam knows his hair is brown. I can’t…”

And, okay, Dean could handle Cas like this. His head might not be on perfectly straight, but at least like this it was still attached. He grabbed Cas’ arm. “Why don’t you take a nap? Maybe some sleep will help you remember.”

“If I was still an angel, I wouldn’t have to sleep.”

“Come on, you’re still an angel. You can still fly.”

“Angels aren’t the only ones that fly, Dean. Birds do. Airplanes do. Lucifer does.”

Dean shoved Cas’ arm away and clenched his hands into fists. “Don’t you ever say that again. Lucifer’s locked up and you are _not_ like him, do you understand me? You’re nothing like him.”

Dean was standing now, and Cas glared up at him. “I rebelled. I can’t return to Heaven. Both of us express unacceptable emotions towards man.”

“You rebelled because you wanted to save the world, Cas. And you haven’t even _tried_ to go back. You said the garrison was too small and they were trying to rebuild and they wouldn’t take you back. Which, by the way, is bull, because Inias seemed pretty happy when he saw you all that time ago.”

“He didn’t know what I’d done,” Cas said. “And if you remember that, you also remember Hester tried to kill me.”

“So all the angels don’t get along,” Dean said. “Neither do people. But we all have to live in the same world, and we somehow manage it.”

“Do you want me to go?” Cas asked, getting to his feet. “Is that what this is? You’re trying to get me to leave, to get away from you and Sam?”

Sam finally stepped in then. “Cas, that is the last thing we want. What Dean’s trying to say is…family’s dysfunctional. Angels are family. Right? So not everything is perfect. Like…ever. So if you _want_ to go back, which would be perfectly understandable…then you should try.”

Cas looked with wide eyes from Sam to Dean. “I don’t want to go.”

“I know,” Dean said. “You don’t have to.

It was well after midnight when they finally gave up and went to bed. Dean crawled in beside Cas who was out as soon as his head hit the pillow. Dean was silent for several minutes, then spoke so quietly it was probably would’ve been inaudible had Cas been awake. “You’re not like Lucifer. He hates people. You…you don’t.” He smoothed Cas’ hair, closed his eyes, and let sleep have him.

 

_The air was icy cold, like being in a blizzard inside a freezer in a blizzard inside of a freezer. There was no way to keep warm. Cas kept his wings wrapped around them, and maybe it helped a little, but it didn’t do much against the weather of friggin’ Purgatory._

_“How long has it been?” Dean asked._

_“Three months,” Cas answered, shivering. “Exactly.”_

_Dean closed his eyes for a moment. “We’re never getting out of here.”_

_Cas grabbed Dean’s wrist. “You don’t know that.”_

_“This isn’t Hell,” Dean snapped. “Angels can’t just stroll through here and pull out whatever soul catches their eye. This is maximum security monster prison.”_

_“Things have got out before.” Dean knew Cas was only saying this shit for his benefit and he probably didn’t believe any of it himself, but he couldn’t stop himself._

_“Right. One of Bobby’s friends and that one time you swallowed everything in here. ‘Cause both those times worked out so well.”_

_Cas drooped, except his wings which hunched up as if he wanted to withdraw into them. Damn, why did Dean always have to be such a dick?_

_“Cas, I—that’s not what I meant, I’m sorry. I know you’re just trying to reassure me or whatever, but I just…” He sighed and stroked a row of feathers on Cas’ wing and he perked up visibly, the way a cat would purr if you pet it._

_“You know, it’s kind of funny,” Dean said. “That something so big can be so sensitive.”_

_“You should keep your hands warm,” Cas said._

_“What, are my fingers gonna fall off? Things don’t work like that here. I’ll be cold either way. They were silent for several minutes before Dean asked, “Did it hurt?”_

_Cas tilted his head. “What?”_

_“When…when your wings couldn’t be contained anymore. They broke through the skin on your back.”_

_Cas shook his head. “No, it didn’t hurt. It felt…it was a relief to be able to spread them. If I keep them folded for too long they get cramped.”_

_Dean wasn’t quite sure if they were talking the actual physical, visible wings, or the spiritual ones that Dean could only see when they were shadows. He wasn’t even sure if they were the same wings or different, but he nodded. And, because it was cold and communication helped keep him—and Cas—sane, he asked, “Do you ever lose feathers?”_

_“Sometimes,” Cas answered. “They grow back.” He plucked one off._

_“No, don’t—“ Dean sighed. “Or do.”_

_Cas handed Dean a black iridescent feather, almost as long as his hand._

_“You didn’t have to do that.”_

_Cas shrugged. “I have plenty.”_

_Dean twirled it between two fingers, watching as it flashed an array of colors._

_“Are all angel wings like this?”_

_“Black?”_

_“Yeah. And opalescent.”_

_“Some of them. There’s gray, black, white, various browns….”_

_“What, no peacock feathered wings?” Dean joked half-heartedly._

_Cas smiled. “No. No peacock angels.”_

_“Tell me about them. Balthazar, Gabriel, Anna. All of them. What are their wings like?”_

_“Anna’s wings were white,” Cas said. “And they glistened, like mine do. Balthazar’s were brown…reminiscent of a brown thrasher or sparrow. They were a bit bigger than the usual size.”_

_Dean snorted. “Doesn’t surprise me.”_

_“Gabriel’s were brown, too, but Archangels’ wings are twice the size.”_

_Dean took in the size of the wings surrounding him and tried to imagine them doubling in size. It kind of blew his mind. “Keep going,” he encouraged, scooting closer._

_“Each of the Archangels have a different color of feathers—the basic colors for the rest of the angels. Raphael’s were a scintillating gray, Michael’s a flat black, and Lucifer’s are a bright white.” He paused in thought. “Uriel’s wings were white, too. And Zachariah’s.”_

_“Is there a reason for the colors? Like…do you each descend from one of the Archangels?”_

_“No,” Cas said. “White is the most common—why most angels are depicted with white wings. Overall, gray are the least common, but flat black even less.”_

_“Have I met any?” Dean asked. “Besides Michael.”_

_“Virgil. That’s it.”_

_“What about Joshua?”_

_“Joshua has gray wings. After the war broke out…he disappeared. No one’s heard from him since—unless they did in the past three months. Most people think he went to Earth.”_

_“Huh. Don’t see why. He had a pretty nice garden up there.”_

_“Joshua was too kind for the war,” Cas said. “He loved peace. Perhaps…perhaps God spoke to him and told him to leave Heaven. To abandon ship.”_

_“He’d be better off on Jupiter than Earth,” Dean remarked._

_Cas froze and Dean fell silent. They exchanged a glance, Dean drawing a machete he grabbed from a vamp a while back and Cas drew a pair of foot long blades he’d taken from a shapeshifter. No peace in Purgatory._

About 5am, Dean was woken up by Cas. “The girl is leaving,” he said. “I can follow her.”

Dean nodded once. “Once you know where she’s going, come right back.” And he vanished.

Dean glanced over at Sam, who was still asleep, before getting up to shower. There wasn’t much point in going back to sleep now.

 

* * *

 

“So,” Lydia said, hoisting herself delicately onto the kitchen counter. “My food is your food. I usually order dinner when my mom's gone. But help yourself.”

Stiles realized he’d forgotten his soda and pretzels in Derek’s car. Damn. He grabbed a Sprite from the glorious fridge and leaned against the counter opposite from her.

“What’s going on with you and Derek?”

Stiles paused before the can touched his lip. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged. “He acts differently around you. I mean, I haven’t _known_ him that long, but when you two are together, he’s not so…harsh. It’s like he’s still serious, but he’s more sarcastic about it.”

It was Stiles’ turn to shrug. “When we first met he was grumpy and serious all the time, but I guess I didn’t take it that way? I was still myself around him, I didn’t feel like _I_ had to be serious just because _he_ was, you know?”

She nodded. “Okay…I guess that could be it. It helps that you don’t hate him for no reason, too.”

“You mean Scott?”

“Yes, I mean Scott. What’s his problem? I mean, I know he doesn’t want to be a werewolf and Derek…took that chance away from him, right? But he didn’t even know for sure it would work. I just don’t get it.”

“Honestly?” Stiles said. “I don’t get it either. I mean, if he doesn’t want to join Derek’s pack, fine, but…”

“He doesn’t have to be such a douche about it,” Lydia finished for him. And then they were on to the next thing. “Allison’s driving me crazy.”

Stiles jumped up onto the counter, too, and took a sip of his drink. “How so?”

“She won’t talk to me about anything. I know she really liked Scott—really, _really_ liked Scott—but she’s the one who broke up with him. And at first he was so obsessed with getting her back”—Stiles snorted. Further proof that supposed “waiting” had not gone well—“but now it’s like they don’t even look at each other hardly ever.”

“I wish I knew,” Stiles said. “Lately, he’s starting spending a lot more time with Isaac.”

Lydia nodded. “Like at the pack meeting. Isaac followed him out.”

“Exactly,” Stiles said. “I get that he needs werewolf friends, but I don’t see where this came from. And it’s like I’m getting kicked farther and farther down his priorities list.” He immediately felt whiney after saying that, but, to be honest, he didn’t care. He felt like he could confide in Lydia and she wouldn’t judge him.

“We need to have an intervention,” she said decidedly. “Try and get them back together.”

“Agreed,” Stiles said. “As annoying as it was hearing, _Allison this,_ and, _Allison that,_ 24/7, it’s preferable to this.”

Lydia pulled her phone out of her pocket. “Speaking of Allison,” she said. “She’s at the motel and so far no one’s gotten in the Impala.”

“Did you hear the supposed screeching?” Stiles asked.

She shook her head. “I didn’t hear anything. But Jackson made it sound horrible.”

“Do you want to see if we can find anything out about it?”

Stiles grinned. “Let’s.”

 

* * *

 

“We should get outta here without being seen while we can,” Dean said.

“To the woods again?” Sam asked.

Dean nodded. “That’d be best.”

“She went to the local high school.”

Dean and Sam looked up at Cas, who had reappeared.

“She’s in high school?” Sam questioned.

Cas nodded. “She parked and went to sleep in her car.”

“Should we…watch her now?” Sam asked.

“It might be good,” Dean said. “We could follow her after school.”

“We’d have to stash the Impala,” Sam said.

“What? Oh, come on. Baby?”

“She knows the car,” Cas said sensibly.

“Damn it,” Dean grumbled. “Fine.”

“I’ll keep watch while you get another car,” Cas volunteered.

Dean looked at him with wariness and concern. “It’ll take some time,” he said. “We’ve got to go to a town far enough away that a stolen car won’t be recognized here.”

“I’ll be fine,” Cas promised.

“Maybe one of us should stay instead,” Dean said hesitantly.

“Dean, I’m not a child,” Cas said defiantly before flying off.

“He’s making his own decisions,” Sam said. “You wanted that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean said sourly. “But I don’t want him to get himself in trouble.”

 

* * *

 

For once, Stiles wasn’t itching for school to be over with. He was actually kind of happy about it—Lydia had been the one to talk Derek into letting him go, saying all the other scents would be cover enough. 

“So if mystery-shrieker isn’t a banshee or jersey devil, then we’ve got nothing,” Stiles said, running his hand through his lack of hair.

Lydia nibbled on a carrot. “We should start collecting old books on the supernatural. The internet’s great, but it only goes so far.”

“That’d be great, except I don’t know of any voodoo, magic-y, supernatural-weird-stuff shops in Beacon Hills.”

“It’s too bad the Hales’ house burned down. I bet they had loads of that kind of stuff.”

Scott took a seat next to Stiles and set his tray a little too heavily on the table. And, oh, Stiles had been waiting for this.

“He shouldn’t have taken you with him,” Scott growled.

Stiles ignored Lydia’s brief wide-eyed, raised-eyebrows expression. “Dude, I didn’t have to go. It was my choice.”

“Right, because Derek just nicely asks people to come on a stake out with him. And why did he even ask you? You can’t heal yourself, you can fight something with superhuman strength. He should’ve asked _me_ , or at least another wolf.”

Stiles bit the inside of lip, trying to keep from snapping. “That right there is why he didn’t ask you, Scott. You’re a jackass to him for no reason. I’m happy to hear you think I’m absolutely useless. Sorry for being human.”

Stiles left his tray of half-eaten food and marched out of the lunchroom, leaving a probably stunned Scott sitting by himself.

In the hallway, Lydia caught up to him. “You know, he probably doesn’t mean to be such a jerk.”

“Hmph. It doesn’t change the fact that he is.”

She shrugged. “Fair. Just don’t be too harsh—Allison!”

Stiles looked up to see Allison walking towards them, droopy eyes complete with dark circles underneath.

“Oh my god, you weren’t keeping watch all night, were you?” he asked, immediately concerned.

“I got about two hours of sleep in the parking lot before school,” she said, shrugging it off. “I’m ditching next class and taking a nap in the library though,” she said. “Wait…why aren’t you two in lunch?”

“We were,” Lydia said. “Then Scott showed up and we left.”

“Oh. Was he being a douche again?”

“Pretty much,” Stiles replied sourly. “Apparently I’m a useless human.”

Allison rolled her tired eyes. “Join the club. He didn’t think I was capable of watching for someone to get in a car.”

“Yeah, the difference is you’re not useless. You’re like Black Widow and Hawkeye’s offspring or Katniss Everdeen or something. I’m just Stiles.”

“Excuse me, but if I heard the story right, you imagined a line of mountain ash into existence,” Lydia said.

“Yeah, leaving Erica, Isaac, and Scott all stuck in a club with the kanima.”

He cast a fleeting glance at Allison, realizing to late that might be a sensitive subject, what with her mom. She seemed to take it well, or else she just hadn’t really heard because she was so tired.

“Either way, you’re not useless,” Lydia said in her this-is-final voice. “Allison, do you want some company?”

“I won’t be any fun,” she said. “I’ll just be sleeping.”

“I was asking, not requesting permission. Stiles, try not to get kidnapped during school in broad daylight by any alpha werewolves while I’m gone, okay? Derek would be pissed.”

The corner of Stiles’ mouth quirked up. “I’m pretty sure you could intimidate him out of being pissed.”

She smiled before turning around to walk with Allison.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably won't be writing very much for the next few days, what with gishwhes, but have part three for the time. (:

Cas appeared in the backseat of the temporarily misappropriated car that was sitting in the school parking lot when Dean called him. “Anything?” he asked, seeing no visible crazy signs.

“No,” Cas said. “She went to the library to sleep while the other kids were eating lunch. She spoke to someone named Lydia and a boy named Stiles. Lydia went with her to the library.”

“No weird stuff brought up in conversation?” Sam asked.

“They mentioned someone named Scott.”

“What are you not saying?” Dean asked, able to sense it right off the bat.

“I may have…fallen asleep.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Only for a few minutes,” Cas said quickly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize how tired I was.”

“It’s fine, Cas. You’ll figure it out eventually.” Dean passed a coffee back to his angel. “This’ll help keep you awake.”

Sam gave him a curious look, because that was Dean’s coffee, but Dean ignored it because if he acknowledged it, Cas would notice. The fact that Cas could fall asleep while remaining invisible to the human eye was worrisome, but there wasn’t much Dean could do about it, so he didn’t mention it. “Okay, so, no leads on what the monster of the week is. Should we follow…”

Dean gestured with his hand and Cas provided, “Allison.”

“Allison after school?” he finished.

Sam shrugged. “Or we could start checking the morgues, interviewing the families.”

“I could keep an eye on Allison while you both do that,” Cas offered, giving the coffee a funny look. “Dean, this is bitter.”

He rolled his eyes. “Next time you can come with and have a latte or something.”

“Maybe we should let the girl go,” Sam said. “Cas would know if she was anything to worry about, right?”

“Yes,” Cas said. “If she was a supernatural being, I would know.”

Dean stared at the closed school doors. “Yeah. I guess. If I see her watching us again, though—“

“Right,” Sam said, turning the keys in the ignition. “We’ll figure it out, then.”

 

They stopped at the motel (once they’d hidden the Impala, they didn’t feel there was much reason to hide out in the woods) to change clothes and get a plan down. Fifteen dead, scattered around Beacon Hills. Six towns, no immediately known connections or similarities between victims.

Sam had his tie in one hand, and with the other he was scribbling something a piece of paper. “So you two will take these three towns,” Sam said, “and I’ll take the other three. And we’ll meet here…” He jotted down an address. “In time for supper.”

“Sounds good,” Dean said, turning back to adjusting Cas’ collar. He smoothed out the shoulders and set about doing his tie. It was weird seeing Cas in a suit sometimes, after he’d started dressing like a normal human being.

“One of us can take a car from here and leave it where we’re meeting,” Dean said, finishing with the tie.

“Sam, you can take this car,” Cas said. “Dean and I will find another one.”

Sam glanced at his brother, just for confirmation. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“I didn’t realize you were so eager to steal a car,” Dean to Cas said as Sam shut the door behind him.

Cas rolled his eyes. “Do you have everything you need?”

“Yeah, why—“

Suddenly they were in the crowded parking lot of some grocery store and Dean was gripping the sleeve of Cas’ blazer. “Holy—Cas, you’ve gotta warn me before you do that.”

“One would think you’d eventually get used to it,” Cas said, and Dean wasn’t sure if he was being snarky or not. “So, which vehicle?” he asked.

They ended up in an old Chevy model from the 80s. Not his baby, but it would get them where they needed to go.

 

* * *

 

It was around seven when Stiles got up from the couch and announced, “I am going for a walk.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow. “The Alphas still have your scent.”

“Yeah, and they won’t not have it until they’re dead and I’m guessing that’ll take a while, so if I want to go for a walk, I’m going for a walk.”

She sighed. “I’ll come with you, then. Through the woods or around town?”

He shrugged. “Wherever we end up.”

She followed him out, locking the door behind them. Stiles didn’t notice she didn’t have any shoes until they were at least two blocks away. “Your feet,” he said stupidly.

“Yes, good job, those are my feet. I use them to walk.”

“You’re not wearing any shoes,” he said, shaking his head, as if he could shake the stupid out of himself.

“I like going barefoot,” she said. “Don’t tell anyone, or I’ll go back to filling the official role of town whack job.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

They walked in companionable silence for a time, and ended up treading through foliage covering the earth, trees standing high above them.

“I was thinking,” Lydia said. “The screeching the pack heard—what if it’s here because of the Alpha pack?”

“Like…to help carry out their animalistic rituals?”

“No, I mean…what if it—or they—came to help?”

“Why? What would make you think that?”

“Humans couldn’t hear it scream. Maybe it’s designed to go after werewolves and it can make sounds that incapacitate them?”

Stiles was silent for a few beats. “That actually makes a lot of sense. But if that’s the case, won’t it be after _all_ the wolves? Even our wolves?”

Lydia didn’t say anything more to that.

 

* * *

 

At the diner, the three came to the consensus that they had nothing. Well, okay, there was a symbol that had been left at every place the bodies had been found, but none of them knew it right off the bat. Cas looked puzzled by it.

“So what we’ve got it fifteen deaths—three college kids, a high school couple that was camping, a single woman on a morning jog, an older guy taking an afternoon walk through the woods, another man’s husband on an evening run with the dog, four best friends, and two employees and a customer at a gas station—and a symbol,” Sam said, flipping through his notepad.

“And three of the seven occurrences happened where we’re staying, in Beacon Hills,” Cas said. “None of the other towns were hit more than once.”

“Yeah, but could that just be a coincidence?” Sam squeezed some dressing onto his rabbit food. “I mean, if this thing had it out for one town, that would make sense, but why all the killings everywhere else?”

Dean bit into his burger. “So basically, we go back to the motel and start digging around for anything about that symbol,” he said. “And hope we find something before there’s another kill.”

 

* * *

 

Lydia and Stiles were lying on the forest floor, dead leaves crumpling every time they altered their positions.

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you…you and Derek, have you ever considered that maybe you two are good for each other?”

“What do you mean?” Stiles turned his head to look at her, but her eyes were still trained on the stars. He looked back up.

“You know, sometimes people are just good for each other. Like Bonnie and Clyde, or Noah and Allie, or Robin Hood and Marian.”

“Are you…you mean like…like Scott and Allison? Me and Derek? Together?” His voice climbed intervals as he spoke.

“Yes, together. But not like Scott and Allison. I don’t think they were really good for each other. I think they both needed _someone_ and they made it work for a while. And now…we shouldn’t be trying to get them back together, we should be helping them move on.”

“But—Derek’s, like, _Derek!_ ”

“Wow, good job, Stiles, A plus. I’m serious. He’s different around you. In a good way, I think.”

“Yeah, okay, but even if we are ‘good for each other’—hypothetically—I’m pretty sure he’s straight. That, and his last relationship didn’t go so well.”

“So he needs to see he can be with someone and be happy. Be with someone he trusts.”

“This is a really awkward conversation,” Stiles said, a funny feeling stirring in his gut.

“Just think about it,” Lydia said. “That’s all.”

He sighed. “Fine, I guess—“

“ _Shh_ —“ She sat up and put a finger to his lips. “Did you hear that?”

A few beats of silence, and then, sure enough, a far off howl.

“That’s the pack,” Lydia whispered. “That’s _our_ pack. Come on.”

 

* * *

  
Dean, Sam, and Cas were sitting around the table back at the motel, trying to make sense of the mostly useless information they’d collected.

“There is absolutely no pattern here,” Sam said, throwing down his notepad. “No connections. All we’ve got is this symbol. Literally.”

Dean shoved his laptop away. “I’ve got bupkis on it. How about you, Cas, anything?...Cas?”

The angel was intently focused on retracing the group of sharp angles that came together tat the center. He stood up suddenly, chair almost tipping over, and grabbed a piece of paper and the nearest available writing utensil—a red sharpie. He took the paper and pressed it against the wall before he began scrawling frantically on it.

“Cas?” the brothers said questioningly in unison.

He grabbed the tape they’d used to put up a few articles and stuck his now filled paper on the wall. Another sheet quickly became covered with red writing and was added beside the other one. This went on for uncounted minutes before Cas finally stopped, looked at the Winchesters, and said, “Werewolves.”

“But the hearts—“ Sam said.

Cas tapped his finger on one of the papers on the wall. “Not the traditional kind you two have dealt with. These are different. The symbol that was found at all the locations the bodies were found—it reminded me of another symbol—“ He pointed to another paper and Dean and Sam got up to look. “—a triskelion. It’s been used throughout the ages by different groups. The druids, mainly, and these werewolves come from Druids. They practiced magic, but were a peaceful people, and human. This made them easy prey to others, and they were nearing extinction, so they created werewolves out of some of their own. The wolves acted as protectors to the Druids, but the sudden power corrupted some. They grew sick of fighting for the lives of those they were beginning to view as helpless, and turned on them.

“That was the end of the Druids, and with none left, the werewolves broke off into packs. Some stayed peaceful while others turned to violence.

“Now the symbol—some of the more powerful packs developed their own over time. Like this one.” Cas pointed to a sketch of the symbol from the crime scenes.

“It resembles the triskelion,” Sam said.

Cas nodded. “And the Argents,” he continued animatedly, “—Allison; her father, Chris; all of them—are werewolf hunters.”

“Well, they’re doing a _great_ job,” Dean remarked sarcastically.

“A pack of this kind…they would be difficult to take down.”

“Do they know about demons?” Sam asked. “Vampires, wendigos, all that?”

“Most werewolf hunters are strictly that,” Cas said. “Your world and theirs are quite separate. And this may be completely unrelated, but the boy Allison was talking to, Stiles Stilinski, his mother was a vessel. She also associated with the werewolves, one particular family that’s been living in this town. The Hales.”

“Could they be the ones on the killing spree?” Sam asked.

“The family was burned alive in their home several years ago,” Cas explained. “All except for three—Peter, Derek, and Laura. They may have formed a new pack, but they were peaceful before…I suppose it could be them though.”

“Either way, they’re werewolves,” Dean said. “If we can kill them, we should.”

“Dean…” Cas canted his head. “I know they must seem like monsters, to both of you, but if they’ve done nothing wrong…they’re still human, in a way. They’re souls aren’t bound for Purgatory.”

“So they’re monsters with a conscious,” Dean said. “Awesome.”

“But most of the kills have happened here,” Sam said logically. “And if the two survivors of the fire are still here…it makes sense. Or at least, it makes more sense than no sense. Was it a natural fire?”

“No, one of the Argents—Kate, Allison’s father’s sister—was behind it. I don’t know if the police ever found out. Heaven had most of its attentions focused elsewhere after Lucifer was released, then Leviathan. Peter was institutionalized after the fire. That’s all I really know on the matter.”

“What about vessel mom?” Dean asked. “Can we talk to her, find out if she’s still in contact with the werewolves?”

“Stiles’ mother died before the fire,” Cas said.

“Damn it.” Dean rubbed his jaw. “Well, how do we kill these werewolves? Silver bullet or something else?”

“Their humanity makes it easier,” Cas explained. “Depending on their rank. Within packs, they have Alphas, betas, and omegas. Alphas are their leaders, the only way to get rid of them is fire. Betas are followers and omegas are ‘lone wolves’ so to speak. Beheadings are efficient, and mountain ash is poisonous to them. Werewolf hunters often use mountain ash bullets, but the ash isn’t easy to come across. Wolfsbane is also highly toxic and also put in bullets. If they’re shot with one, they should be dead within twenty-four hours.”

“Well, we don’t have any mountain ash or wolfsbane bullets,” Dean said. “So fire and beheadings.” He turned his head to look at Sam. “It’ll be just like that rugaru.”

Sam smiled humorlessly. “Like the one that almost ate you, great.”

“Hey, I’m still here,” Dean said. “Let’s go hunt some werewolves.”

 

Cas said the Hales used to live in a mansion in the woods and there were still remains there, so the three set out. “They can change at will,” Cas explained, “or if they lose control. During the full moon, they’re most dangerous.” Dean figured that meant the killings would just get even worse; about a little over a week ago it had been a new moon.

“We should walk from here,” Cas said. “They’ll hear us sooner with the car.”

They were armed with machetes, but no fire. Sam had reasoned that if they were faster than a rugaru, then the chance that they would tackle one of them while on fire was too great to take. Dean disagreed, but Cas, naturally, sided with Sam.

“So how big are these packs?” Dean asked as the three got out of the car and continued on foot. “Usually.”

“It all depends,” Cas said. “Anywhere from three to…” He thought for a moment. “I believe the largest was more of a community than pack, but there were fifty.”

Dean’s eyes bulged involuntarily.

“Such high numbers are very rare, though,” Cas said. “Ten to twenty is average, unless the numbers have changed drastically in the past few years.”

“Okay, and there are more ways to kill them, but how about how dangerous they are as compared to the werewolves we’re used to?” Dean asked.

“It all depends on numbers,” Cas said. “And how organized they are as a group, and their experience. There’s a lot to factor in—“ He stopped mid-step, Dean freezing a fraction of a second later, followed by Sam. There were a few seconds of silence that seemed to stretch longer before Cas and Dean leapt in opposite directions. The wolf—eyes glowing blue, ears tipped, and what looked like too much facial hair in the dark—tackled Sam to the ground, biting and snarling. Dean jumped him and they rolled around on the earth a few times before halting. The wolf was straddling him, and damn if he didn’t need to trim his nails. They dug painfully into Dean’s shoulders.

A snarl sounded from a few yards away, distracting the werewolf on Dean and he took the opportunity to shove it off him. He swung for the head, but another damn dog attacked, clawing his right arm. Sam was handling a wolf with gold eyes, and two others were circling Cas, both red-eyed. Dean swung at the second wolf that had attacked him, but it ducked to avoid the fatal blow. He raised the machete again, but the other wolf jumped on his back, slashing open his shoulder. Dean dove into a roll on the ground and heard a series of satisfying crunches as some of the mutt’s bones broke. Dean got back on his feet in a flash and sliced across the gold-eyed wolf’s belly. It fell onto hands and knees and the dog keeping Sam busy let out an awful howl as it tried to run for its comrade. Sam grabbed him and held a blade across his throat though. Dean didn’t have to look to know the red-eyed wolves were still circling Cas. He just knew they were. In a split second, Cas slashed his machete at one, cutting halfway through the arm at the elbow, and then the other wolf saw Sam’s hold on Scott. His lips pulled back into a snarl as he withdrew several steps. Cas put a foot on the belly of the wolf he’d cut, now lying on its back, and pressed the point against its throat.

“You’ve got three seconds to explain yourself,” Dean said, “or we kill your little mutt friends.”

The dark-haired wolf growled as he features shifted to something disturbingly close to normal. The fangs and red eyes stayed and a low growl sounded from his throat. His eyes flicked between everyone, lingering too long for Dean’s comfort on Cas. He pulled Ruby’s knife and stabbed blue eyes in the side. “Don’t look at him,” Dean barked. “Right now, I’m talking to you.”

“What is he?” the wolf growled.

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“They can heal fast, Dean,” Cas warned.

Dean made two massive gashes along his gold-eyed wolf’s calves. They couldn’t lose the upper hand here. Sam pressed his blade harder against the dog’s throat. The unharmed wolf snarled in response and the corner of Dean’s mouth quirked up. “Have you got a soft spot for that one?” he mocked.

Behind him, a twig snapped and somebody hissed, “ _Shit._ ”

Dean spun and saw a teenager in a red hoodie, sixteen, maybe seventeen, limbs temporarily frozen. As soon as Dean looked at him, the wolf let out a much more menacing growl than before. Obviously the kid meant something. The other wolves responded to him, too.

“And who the hell are you?” Dean questioned. “Little red riding hood?”

“What? No. No! Who’re you? The Argents’ long lost other murderous relative?”

“That’s Stiles,” Cas said, and of course this idiot kid running with wolves was Stiles. Vessel mom’s kid.

“Stiles, get out of here,” Sam’s wolf warned. “We caught their scent—“

Sam pressed his blade closer yet against the exposed flesh of his throat, silencing him.

In a split second decision, Dean grabbed the kid. He was human, he wouldn’t kill him, but they needed to know if these were the werewolves that had been slaughtering people.

“The Argents and us aren’t related,” Dean said, twisting Stiles’ arms behind his back. “If you’re worried about them, you should be terrified of us.”

The free red-eyed dog roared and crouched low when Dean grabbed Stiles. “What do you know?” he snarled at Cas.

Dean’s angel glared at the werewolf in a way that made him seem like an absolute imbecile for even opening his mouth. “I know that as of three years ago, you were a nonviolent Druid werewolf,” Cas said, voice somehow echoing with power, even without all of his grace. “I know that your uncle Peter,” he said, prodding at the wolf’s neck under his blade, “was locked away. And I know you blamed yourself after Kate Argent burned your family.”

“What are you?” Derek—Dean assumed—asked.

Dean swore Cas stood six inches taller. “You’re not the one asking questions. Tell us, are you the ones committing the murders?”

“What? You think—oh my god, no!” The kid in Dean’s grip squirmed and he held him tighter. “That’s not us,” Stiles explained, “that’s—“

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek hissed, more cat-like than dog.

“That’s not our pack.” And, _holy shit_ , Dean thought, _another one?_ He looked over his shoulder and saw a girl with leaves in her strawberry blonde hair. And…bare feet?

“She’s not a werewolf,” Cas said quickly. “She’s Lydia.”

“Yes, I am Lydia. And the werewolves on a killing spree are no friends of ours. You find them, you can get rid of them however you want.”

“Okay, question,” Dean said. “Stiles showing up I get, but what the hell are _you_ doing here? You were talking with an Argent—”

“The Argents,” Lydia said, marching up to Dean, a little too fearless, “are on good terms with this pack. We don’t kill people. And _you_ , mister, stabbed my boyfriend one too many times.”

“Your boy—fuck, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Interspecies mating is rare, but not unheard of,” Cas said, like this needed an explanation.

“Dean, if they’re not the ones killing people, we need to find out who is,” Sam said.

Dean glanced around warily, putting human-slash-werewolf situations out of his mind. “No…no, I don’t think so. If we let them go, they’ll come after us.”

Lydia turned her gaze on Derek. “If they go quietly, you’ll let them. Right?”

He bared his teeth. “The hunters can go if they swear to leave us alone.”

Dean and Cas exchanged an unspoken conversation in a glance. “Alright,” Dean said. He released Stiles and the kid scrambled backwards. Sam let go of the wolf he’d had ahold of and Cas withdrew his machete from presumably Peter’s throat. Of course, he’d been hanging around them an awful lot, so the Winchester luck must’ve been rubbing off on him. As soon as Peter was on his feet, he and Derek both jumped Cas, pinning him to the ground.

“ _Derek!_ ” Lydia screeched at the same time as Dean pulled a gun from the back of his jeans and fired off a quick succession of six shots, three for each of the Hales. Wolfsbane, mountain ash, or not, he figured they had to do some harm if these bastards were at all human. Derek grunted and twisted his head, wolfing completely out again, and Peter snarled furiously.

“Get the fuck off him,” Dean said, stepping forward. Another wolf charged at him, and he barely had to look to shoot it right between the eyes. It fell to the ground, moaning and writhing. Head shots: somewhat effective.

“Derek, what the _hell_ ,” Lydia screamed.

“He’s not human,” Derek growled. “He’s the thing that we heard shrieking. And he knew about us.”

Dean heard the crunch-squish sound of Sam cutting flesh and the ear-piercing howl that followed.

“Jackson, _don’t_ ,” Lydia snapped, and Dean assumed Jackson was her were-boyfriend. He was pretty sure it was blue eyes.

Dean sensed someone standing behind him and with the others accounted for, he could only guess it was Little Red. He sprang backwards several steps and changed the direction his gun was aiming, pointing right at the kid.

“I swear to God, I’ll blow his head off,” Dean threatened.

 

_“Let go of the angel.” Dean’s tone left no room for bargaining. The Leviathan grinned from ear to ear—literally—it’s true form showing through the cracks in Purgatory. They had more teeth than Dean had seen them with back on Earth. Its eyes were enlarged, colors inverted, white pupils, red irises, and where the whites of the eyes should’ve been there was black instead._

_The bitch seemed to purr an answer. “Mmm…but angels are quite tasty. And so rare.” An ugly chuckle danced from her mouth. “You could have a bite, I suppose. Celestial beings are quite rich and too much can be…mmm…not so good.”_

_Cas’ gaze was locked on him, blue screaming at Dean to_ run, run, run, get away _, with no words. Dean’s eyes told him no. He was never losing his angel again. Ever. He’d chased Cas down in Purgatory, finding him the bloody way, slicing and dicing for information. Of course, nothing here stayed dead for long, but he killed them when he finished with them anyway, giving himself a head start. This was the first Leviathan he’d come across, thank God or whoever the fuck was up there, since being stuck here. Good thing, too, because Purgatory seemed to be a bit low on borax._

_Her tongue slithered out, not snake-like, but just…monster-like, to lick up Cas’ neck. Cas closed his eyes, lips forming silent words, as a shudder ran up and down the length of Dean’s spine._

_“If you won’t join me,” she purred, “you can join him. Mmm…up to you, tasties.”_

_The tentacles that looked more like wicked, thorny vines that were wrapped around Cas’ wings tightened, and his angel let out a gasp of pain. Red droplets dripped from the tips of black feathers and hit the ground. She lifted a tentacle to her tongue and licked the blood off it, letting out an appreciative_ mmmm _, that Dean found repulsing._

 _“You fucking_ bitch _,” Dean shouted. “I’ll rip out your intestines and shove them down your fucking_ throat _when I get my hands on you.”_

_The thing giggled in response and licked Cas’ skin again, disfigured, large mouth almost kissing his flesh. It made Dean want to puke._

_She giggled again and said, “Mmm…I could have some fun with this one before I eat him, mmmm, yes. So much fun.” Her blackened fingers trailed down his chest and under his shirt. She fit her mouth around the area where Cas’ neck and shoulder met and half-bit-half-sucked, emitting a whimper from Cas._

_“_ Stop! _” Dean screamed, totally clueless as to what he should do. Cas had explained this to him before—he wasn’t sure if when they died they would be brought back to life. Supernatural monsters belonged in Purgatory—angels and humans, not so much. Dean couldn’t let this thing kill Cas, not here, not like this._

_The fucker laughed as Cas’ legs began to quiver. “Does the human want to watch?” she murmured against his angel’s pale throat. Cas shook his head almost imperceptibly, not so much in answer to her question as begging Dean to get away. Something clicked in his head then. Of course! He had to make it believable…_

_“Wait a second,” Dean said. “Are you on good terms with the leader of your black worm race?”_

_She removed her mouth from Cas and Dean saw the bite marks went deep and the area was already bruising. But he’d get Cas away, he would—he just had to do this right._

_She hissed at him at the insult, eyes briefly flashing completely yellow._ That’s new _, Dean thought._

_“I’ll take that as a yes. I don’t know if you’ve run into him down here at all since…well, since whenever you got here, but I had a bit of ‘fun’ with him before I stuck a bone through his throat, sending his ass straight here.”_

_She opened her mouth and let out an ear-piercing shriek, three—yes,_ three _—tongues hissing. Dean took that as his cue. He took off through the trees. He was fairly certain she’d let him go and keep Cas, but even if it went the other way and she chased after him, that would work, too. After several minutes of running, he began circling back. The Leviathan wouldn’t be worried about any interruptions. Nothing down here would dare so much as look at one with their prey, and she thought Dean had run off. If he stayed quiet, he’d have the element of surprise. He came back and got as close as he dared._

_As much as he didn’t want to know what “fun” qualified as, he knew he’d have to wait until her hold on Cas changed so when Dean attacked he could separate the two without risking Cas’ life._

_“Nobody here, angel,” she was saying. “Your little pet left you.” She had him on the ground, vine-like appendages still wrapped around his wings and legs straddling him. “Too bad,” she said, dragging a clawed finger down his chest and below his stomach. He shifted under her touch, barely able to move. “He was a pretty one.” She dug her claws into the flesh on the inside of his thigh and Cas screamed. Dean wanted nothing more to cut the bitch’s head clean off right then, but he knew if he did, she would crush his wings to smithereens and probably worse. So he bit his lip and forced himself not to move an inch._ I’ll save you, I’ll save you, I’ll save you _, he chanted in his mind, not even realizing he was praying to Cas._

 _She laughed when he screamed, and it sounded clear through the trees, like an unnaturally loud set of wind chimes whose pitches clashed ever-so-slightly. She shoved his shirt up and raked her teeth down his bare chest. Cas was writhing beneath her, letting out wordless screams. If she would just let go of his_ wings _, he was on the ground, he couldn’t move them either way. She bit into his side, simultaneously letting out a moan and rolling her hips and she threw her head back, chewed, and swallowed. “You are_ delicious _,” she sang delightfully. Her fingers hooked the waistline of his pants and pulled them down and if Dean thought he’d wanted to vomit before, he’d been wrong._ Let go, let go, let go _, he thought desperately. She combed her fingers through his hair and he turned his head in disgust. “Did I say you could look away?” she hissed, grabbing his jaw and forcing him to look at her. “I want you to watch when I eat you and fuck you at the same time.” Dean saw Cas’ fists tighten and he wondered if he knew he was there, wondered if they angel part of him could still sense Dean’s presence._

_He wasn’t sure how long he had to wait. It was probably only a matter of minutes, but it felt like ages. Watching his angel be tortured, violated—raped. It almost pushed him over the edge. But then he got his moment **.**_

 

* * *

 

“Um…Derek…” Stiles gulped, pulse racing. “Maybe you wanna rethink the situation…”

“Tell me what he is,” Derek snarled.

“Pulling a trigger would be easier,” the guy holding a gun to his head said. Dean? Dean. That was his name.

“Don’t you touch him,” Derek practically purred.

“I SAID LET THE FUCKING ANGEL GO,” Dean roared.

Stiles could feel the very air around them freeze. _Angel?_ That guy was an _angel?_

“Dean,” the obscenely tall guy said quietly. “Be careful—“

“ _I’m not doing a damn thing until he let’s go of Cas,_ ” he shouted, Stiles felt like their situation was suddenly twenty times worse than it had been a few seconds ago. This guy wasn't kidding around. Like, at all.

“Let me go,” the pinned guy—no, not guy, freaking _angel_ said. “He’ll shoot him. You know he will. And I don’t want him harmed—“

A low rumble came from Derek’s throat. Stiles saw the subtle lift of his head as he sniffed the air and the gradual change of his features. The Alphas must be close, shit. He let go of the angel—seriously, this angel thing was screwing with Stiles’ head, this could not actually be real—and Peter followed suit. He stood and backed away from them until he was by Dean. “Let him go,” he said in a voice so low Stiles barely heard it. “ _Dean_.” Mr. Inivisi-Wings laid a hand on his shoulder and he finally dropped the gun. Stiles half-stumbled-half-ran to where Derek was, relief pouring over him. And if what Lydia had said before came to mind, he paid it no attention.

“What the _hell_ are you doing out here?” Derek growled, shoving Stiles. The sudden relief seemed to mock him. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Ow, no! But apparently you are! Just let him _shoot_ me, Jesus—“

“If you weren’t out here, that wouldn’t have _happened_.”

The three hunters—or two plus one angel or whatever—began backing away, slowly at first, then speeding up. No one made a move to go after them and, to be honest, that was probably for the best. They were fierce as hell from what Stiles had seen. No arrows, no special bullets—just machetes and an average, run-of-the-mill gun. But damn if they didn’t know how to use them.

“Is everyone alright?” Derek asked once they were gone.

Scott had finally managed to dislodge the bullet from his skull (that had to have hurt like a bitch) and everyone was healing. Lydia hadn’t even been touched, so Derek turned to Stiles. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll live,” Stiles said. “But tell me I’m not crazy. Did they say that guy was an a—“

“We’ve got to get you out of here,” Derek said, totally cutting him off. “The Alphas are close.”

“We don’t have time,” Scott said. “They’ll find catch his scent and find him.”

Stiles gawked. “They’re _that_ close?”

“If you idiots wouldn’t have ruined it, maybe those guys would’ve helped us,” Lydia said from where she stood with an arm around Jackson.

“Help us?” Scott said. “They were _lunatics_. With freaking _machetes_.”

“Yeah?” Lydia seemed unfazed. “And they were after the Alpha pack. They just don’t know it yet.”

“Lydia has a point,” Peter said. He’d been silent a while. “Angel-boy said he didn’t want Stiles hurt. And he didn’t seem eager to make any of us into chopped liver.”

“The guy that had Stiles wasn’t even going to hurt him,” Lydia said. “Not until _you_ ”—she looked pointedly and Derek—“decided to tackle his friend.” Peter smirked, but it didn’t get passed Lydia. “Don’t think you’re off the hook,” she snapped. “You’re just as guilty as Derek on that.”

Peter admitted his part. “Fair enough. But I do agree with you, Lydia. Our pack against the Alphas…it won’t end well. We could use them.”

“We’ve got the Argents—“ Derek argued. (And, wow, Derek using the Argents as a pro instead of a con? Just wow.)

“The Argents aren’t here right now,” Isaac interrupted. “All we’ve got to get Stiles out of here is those guys. And they’re getting farther away and the Alphas are getting closer the longer we stay here and waste time.”

“Do I get a say in this?” Stiles asked.

“No,” the majority of the pack said at once.

“It doesn’t matter,” Scott said. “They’ll just follow Stiles’ scent, even if we send him with the hunters.”

“The…angel’s…scent will cover it up. And if they catch on and start following that scent, they left in a car last time, right? So the wouldn’t be able to follow them in that,” Isaac reasoned.

Lydia grabbed Stiles’ hand. “All in favor of having the hunters protect Stiles?”

She raised her own free hand, and of course Jackson did, too, then. Isaac also lifted a hand, followed by Peter. Ironically, that left Scott and Derek. (Seeing as Stiles didn’t have any say in the matter. Bastards.)

“But someone needs to go with him,” Peter said. “To ensure his safety.” Stiles found it mildly creepy that Peter was actually saying he wanted him to stay safe, but he thought better than to say anything of it.

“You’re not sending a werewolf,” Lydia said, already backing away with him. At everyone’s shocked expressions, she said “Think of it as a show of good faith. If one of you— _one_ —would like to accompany us until we reach them, you have approximately five seconds to decide.” She spun Stiles around. “We’re going to have to run to catch up,” she warned about two seconds before she yanked him ahead at a sprint.

A matter of seconds later, Isaac was right beside them. “Run fast,” he said. “It’s going to be close.”

They ended up following him, because he could follow the hunters’ scent more directly. What seemed like forever later, they finally saw them in the distance.

“Hey!” Isaac shouted—which was taking a risk, yeah, but risks had to be taken for anything to be gained. The three turned around in unnerving unison and Isaac, Lydia, and Stiles slowed to a jog, then walk. Isaac held his hands up in a we-come-in-peace way and said, not even out of breath, “The pack you’re hunting, they’re looking for him.” He gestured towards Stiles with his head. “They’re extremely close right now, and if we don’t get him out of here, they’ll kill him or worse.”

Kill him _or worse?_ _Great_ , Stiles wanted to scream.

“We’ll take him,” the angel said without hesitation at the same time Dean said, “No way.”

“Dean, his mother—“

“He runs with wolves!” Dean spat.

The tall guy rolled his eyes, like he knew how the argument was going to go already.

“Come on,” he said.

“Sam, what the hell—“

“Stop whining, Dean. He’s a kid and he’s in trouble. Cas is going to win anyway.”

 _What about my mother?_ Stiles refrained from asking.

“Thank you,” Isaac said, sounding sincere. He probably wasn’t faking it either. Lydia stuck close to Stiles. “The others are close,” Isaac explained in a rush. “His scent,” he said, pointing at ‘Cas’, “will cover up Stiles’, but they might figure it out and starting following the new scent. The sooner you get to a car, the better. They can’t follow then. Are you at the motel?”

Gigantor nodded. “Find us when you can.”

“Good luck,” Isaac said before taking off in the direction they came.

 

* * *

 

_Because of some sick pleasure she was getting, her grip loosened on Cas’ wings. Dean hoped it was enough because he couldn’t afford to wait any longer. He ran and threw himself at her and they went tumbling away from Cas._

_“_ Dean! _” Cas screamed._

_Dean landed on top of the Leviathan, a small advantage, but an advantage nonetheless. He didn’t waste anytime before he began hacking off parts of the bitch. Tentacles, limbs, and eventually her head. He picked up the pieces when they stopped moving and threw them in all different directions, rage and adrenaline pumping through his veins. He let out a scream as he threw the last piece, her head, far past any of the others. He put away his weapon—the weird knife he acquired after killing two vamps—and ran over to Cas, who was standing weakly against a tree._

_“Cas, Cas, Cas,” were the only words Dean could find._

_“We’ve got to get away from here before she starts putting herself back together,” the angel said sensibly._

_Dean didn’t say anything, just wrapped an arm around Cas’ back, beneath his wings, and let his angel lean against him as they walked._

_Within a few minutes, Cas stumbled and fell. Dean grabbed him before he hit the ground. “Cas? What is it?” He groaned, shutting his eyes, fingers digging through Dean’s jacket and into his arms. It was then that he saw the black ooze trickling out of the chest wound. “Shit, Cas, are you—“_

_“No,” he gasped out. “Just me. She—poison—“_

_“Shh, okay, okay.” That was all Dean needed to hear. He slid an arm behind Cas’ knees and scooped his injured bird up. He was scarily light, but in a moment of childish thought, Dean told himself that birds had hollow wings and it was okay that they were light. He just couldn’t let himself acknowledge just how bad of shape Cas was in. He let his head fall against Dean’s shoulder and suddenly Dean knew he was a goner. Whether they ever got out of this Hell-hole or not, there was no way to change this. Cas was Dean’s and Dean was his, simple as that. They were stuck together no matter what now, and Dean didn’t even care._

_He carried Cas to a stream (he still found the fact that there was water and trees in Purgatory weird, but whatever) and laid him down gently on the bank._

_“Hey, buddy, you still awake?”_

_Cas moaned in response and turned his head._

_Dean looked him over and found it wasn’t just the chest wound that was infected—it was all the bites and scratches. Between his neck and shoulder, his thigh, all along his forearm. There was black dripping from his wings, too, and Dean thought that was probably the worst._

_“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said. Honestly, he had no idea if water would even make a difference, but it was all they had at the moment._

_Dean shrugged out of his jacket, rolled it up, and placed it under Cas’ head. He washed his hands off and started out just pouring the water out of his hands directly onto Cas’ wounds. They’re clothes were covered with dirt, but he had to clean out the wounds and he figured something was better than nothing. He tore off a strip of Cas’ trench coat and got it thoroughly wet. “Hey, this is gonna sting a little, okay?” He wasn’t sure if Cas heard him or not, but he pressed the wet cloth against the spot between his neck and shoulder. Part of the flesh was missing and Dean fought back the urge to vomit. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen plenty of blood, guts, and gore in his time, but this was just…_ wrong _. This was Castiel, an angel of the Lord, that had been raped and attacked by the oldest breed of monster known. And in Purgatory, of all places._

_Cas’ fingers gripped for purchase and found Dean’s arm._

_“Shhh,” Dean hushed, carding his fingers gently through Cas’ hair. His angel whimpered and made a weak attempt to pull himself closer to him. Dean helped him up and leaned his back against his chest. “I’ve got you,” he promised. “It’s okay.”_


	4. Chapter 4

The awkward outweighed how scared Stiles was. At the car, the massive guy introduced himself as Sam, and said the other two were Dean and Castiel. “Lydia and Stiles,” Lydia had said.

Sam ushered them into the backseat and when he started to climb in after them, Stiles protested, “You’re, like, enormous—no offense—can’t you sit in front?”

“Right now it’s better if those two do,” Sam said. Which didn’t really make any sense to Stiles, were they a couple with separation issues or something?, because why else—but then he realized he was actually _rambling_ in his _head_ and he stopped himself.

The drive was silent and fast. There was some sort of weird tension spilling out of the front from Castiel and Dean and into the back of the car. What made Stiles worry more about Dean’s driving was the fact that he only had one hand on the wheel. The other was resting on the space between the seats, his fingers barely touching Castiel’s navy sleeve.

“So—“ Stiles tried, but Sam silenced him with a look.

In town, they pulled into the hotel Stiles had been waiting at with Derek not that long ago. Sam gave him a funny look when they got out of the car. “Don’t try to run or anything, okay?” He went to get something out of the trunk.

Stiles shrugged. “Alphas, hunters. Neither sounds like a fun way to die.”

Lydia smacked the back of his head as they followed the other two guys to their room. Sam held an open arm out. “Have a seat.”

Lydia arranged herself on the edge of one of two beds (two beds, three guys, further enforcing the couple theory) and Stiles did the same—though, not so much of arrange as plop down. They weren’t in the car anymore, so he counted the quiet game as over. But just as he was about to open his mouth, the angel-slash-Castiel said, “I might’ve known you sooner if I’d heard your name.” Stiles literally had no idea how to respond to that, but luckily he didn’t have to. “Stiles. It’s an interesting name. Even less common than—“

“Hey hey hey, what’re you talking about, what’d you say? I couldn’t quite hear. Oh, don’t worry about it, they don’t need to know that—“ And before he knew it, he’d been babbling on and embarrassing himself. But it was better than having Lydia—and these other two lunatics—know his birth name.

Before Castiel could respond, Dean spun him around and looked at a deep set of claw marks between his neck and shoulder, probably Peter’s doing.

“That son of a bitch,” Dean growled.

“Dean, breathe,” Castiel said, voice immediately changing. “We’re here. You’re in worse shape than me.”

“Time to play doctor,” Sam said, mostly to himself. He pulled something out of the bag he’d brought in. …Dental floss? “Will he need stitches?”

“Gauze should do it,” Dean said as he pulled Castiel’s shirt over his head. He flinched as it peeled over the puncture wounds and Dean mumbled an apology.

Castiel took a seat in a chair by the table as Dean opened a bottle of whisky. He placed an arm behind his shoulder and poured an ample amount onto the wound. Castiel clenched his jaw. Dean pressed some gauze to it and Sam handed him some tape. The three finished up with each other so fast it kind of blew Stiles’ mind. Sam was the only one that needed stitches, for a scratch running the length of his forearm.

“Did you guys used to be doctors?” Stiles asked.

“Anything but,” Dean said curtly, eyes stuck on Castiel in a freaky-possessive kind of way.

“When you get cut up bad enough often enough, you learn to work quickly and efficiently,” Sam said in vague explanation.

Castiel and Dean continued to have a conversation with their eyes for a lengthy minute.

“So,” Lydia said. “You won’t be hurting anyone in our pack again, right?”

When no one answered, Castiel said, “So long as they refrain from hurting humans.”

Stiles figured it would be best not to say anything about kanima-Jackson then. That was over and done with, anyway. In his pocket, his phone buzzed.

“Am I allowed to answer?” he asked somewhat sarcastically.

“You’re not a hostage,” Sam said.

Stiles didn’t bother saying he kind of felt like one as he answered his phone. It was Derek. “What?”

“We got away from the Alpha pack. I’m on my way.”

“Okay. We’re at the motel that we were—“

“Give me ten minutes.”

The call ended. Stiles made a face before shoving the phone back into his jacket pocket. “Derek’ll be here in ten minutes.”

“Just him?” Dean asked.

“Um…maybe.”

Dean stomped out the door, muttering something to Sam, and let it slam behind him.

“Keep him safe,” Castiel said shortly after, before vanishing.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait. _Before vanishing_.

“What just happened?” Lydia asked.

“He—he just—oh my _god_ , what the _hell_?”

“When Dean called him an angel, that wasn’t a pet name,” Sam said simply. “When he flies, he disappears like that.”

“Wait—you mean—oh my god, are they actually _together_? I thought—but then— _oh my god, he’s an angel_.”

“Stiles, stop talking,” Lydia said.

“No, they’re not together. I mean, I don’t think…” Sam paused, then shook his head. “No. But yes, Castiel is an angel, for real. Feathery wings, beams of light, warrior of God, _angel_. And you can thank him, because if he wasn’t there, you would still be in the woods right now. Speaking of, why don’t you explain why these other werewolves we didn’t see want you dead?”

 

* * *

 

Dean slammed the car door shut behind him and tried to keep calm. Cas was here. He was okay, he was fine. But those stupid fucking werewolves… He wanted to hit something. He wanted to hit everything. He hated not being able to forget, he hated that every little thing had to remind him of something and he just _hated_ —

Dean was in the backseat all of a sudden, someone’s arms encircling him, pulling him close and he didn’t bother to fight it, didn’t even want to. Cas’ hands were soft and gentle, a warm breeze against his skin. His angel was summer and beautiful and nothing but good intentions and when winter got too close, Dean wanted to throw himself between them, to be autumn, but the leaves always fell and everything froze and nothing good ever stayed for long.

Dean thought he could hear Cas softly humming _Hey, Jude_ , but it was perfectly possible that he was imagining it, too.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he said after a nondescript amount of time.

“I’m sorry, too,” Cas said against Dean’s hair.

Dean sat up a little bit and pulled Cas’ shirt away from his shoulder, fingers grazing over the covered wound. _Not as bad_ , he told himself. _God, not near as bad_.

“Don’t be mad when he arrives,” Cas said. “He wanted to protect his people, that’s all. I was a threat.”

Dean shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. At that moment, a black Camaro tore into the parking lot, leaving a trail of tire marks behind as it pulled into an empty spot. Dean didn’t even have to guess who it was.

“If he touches you again, I’ll kill him. You _or_ Sam, I swear.”

Cas laid a hand briefly on Dean’s shoulder. “Stiles is important to him. We have to protect the vessel bloodline.”

Dean didn’t say it, but he would choose Cas over that kid if it came down to it. In a second.

Derek jumped out of the car, stiffening as Cas and Dean also got out. He turned and glared.

“Stiles is safe,” Cas said in a voice far too kind for a monster.

He followed them in and the way his shoulders just barely relaxed when he saw Stiles didn’t escape Dean’s notice. “Are you okay?”

The kid shrugged.

“They’ll help us with the Alpha pack,” Lydia interjected.

Dean cast Sam and sideways glance.

“Sam said so,” she said. “I explained what’s been going on.”

“We already have hunters helping us,” Derek hissed.

“Look,” Sam said. “Not that I’m doubting the Argents’ abilities, but—me and brother have more experience.

Derek snorted, obviously dubious.

“You think you’re the only thing that goes bump in the night?” Dean said.

Derek glanced at Lydia. “How much did you tell them?”

She gave him a stubborn look that seemed to satisfy him.

“Me and Sam have been in this since we were kids. We lost people to crap much worse than dogs like you.”

“They have an angel,” Stiles said. “They could probably beat all of our asses until we look worse than road kill.”

“And they could do the same to the Alphas.” Lydia stood up. “It’s what they do. They hunt monsters.”

It was Dean’s turn to ask Sam how much he’d told the two kids and Sam gave him a look similar to the one Lydia had given Derek.

“Stiles can go home,” Lydia said. “His dad’ll want him back eventually, and they can keep watch.”

“Nothing would touch the boy,” Cas promised.

Derek glared at the three of them. “I don’t even know you. Why should I trust any of you?”

“Protect your own by yourself if you want,” Sam said. “But we’re willing to help eliminate the threat.”

Derek’s jaw clenched and unclenched several times before he grudgingly said, “They have two of ours. We don’t know where they’re keeping them or if they’re even still alive.”

Stiles’ phone buzzed again and when he saw who it was, he grimaced. “It’s Allison’s dad.”

“Tell him you’re fine,” Derek instructed. “And tell him—“

Dean held up a hand. “You said this guy’s a friend of yours?” Derek eyed him cautiously. “If we’re going to help your quaint little wolf pack, I think we should meet him.”

 

* * *

 

“We’re getting Baby back after this,” Stiles heard Dean say to his brother as they filed out the door.

“Lydia and Stiles, you’re coming with me,” Derek said, glancing around the lot before climbing into his Camaro.

The hunters followed in their car to the Argent house. Allison and Chris were waiting outside when they arrived.

Stiles noticed it was something of a competition to see who could get out of their car faster—Derek or Dean. The brothers and Chris Argent exchanged a stony look that must be unique to hunters before Mr. Argent extended his hand, introducing himself and his daughter.

“I’m Dean, this is Sam, and Castiel.”

“It’s good to finally know your name,” Chris said in a slightly lighter tone.

“Finally?” Stiles questioned.

“Allison and I saw them at the diner,” Chris said. “It was an obscure hour, now it makes sense.” He gave Dean a stern look. “But I assume you’re not going to try to kill any of Hale’s pack again.”

“If they haven’t killed any humans.”

Mr. Argent nodded once. “Good. Come on in.”

Allison held the door for everyone and locked it behind them. “Are you okay?” she asked Stiles quietly.

“As okay as I can be,” he said. “The guy named Castiel, you would not _believe_ —“

“Allison, double check the back door,” her dad said from the living room.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “Hold that thought.”

Stiles followed Lydia as she disappeared into the living room where everyone was gathered.

“So, how long have you two been in the business for?” Chris asked the group.

“Me and Sam’s mom died when I was four,” Dean said. “Our dad got into it after, and he raised us like that. Moving around all the time, learning to shoot, what was in the dark.”

“That had to be tough. And what about your friend, Castiel?”

“My father is different,” Castiel said. “He’s not a man.”

Chris narrowed his eyes. “He’s a werewolf?”

“He’s God.”

Dean dragged a hand down his face and Sam cringed. “Real subtle, Cas,” Dean muttered.

“Excuse me? What the hell do you mean, ‘God’?” Chris asked, dumbfounded.

“He’s an angel,” Sam said, taking over. “Wings and everything, you just can’t see them. He’s with us though. The three of us, we…we’ve been through a lot. We’ve stopped the apocalypse and locked the Devil in Hell, we’ve killed angels, demons, leviathans. Even time travelled a couple times.”

You could actually poke the silence in the room with a stick, it was so solid.

“I’m sorry,” Chris said. “What you’re saying, it…”

“Makes us sound crazy?” Sam guessed. “We know. Trust me, we know very well. We’ve actually been crazy once or twice.”

“He had Lucifer in his head,” Dean said with a fake smile, jerking a thumb towards Sam. “Cas swallowed a few thousand souls, I’ve been to Hell. Me and Cas, we just got back from Purgatory a couple months ago. Not the brightest place.” If Stiles’ head kept trying to comprehend what they were saying, he was going to short-circuit his brain. The apocalypse, Satan, Hell, Leviasomething. _What the hell?_ Or, maybe, _What the Purgatory?_ “But you don’t need to hear any of that,” Dean dismissed. “All we’re here to do is some pest control.”

Chris put up a hand. “If you’re going to involve yourself in my town, and my people, then I think I need to make sure you won’t pull anything. Now, I’m not going anywhere tonight, so why don’t you have a seat and tell me a story, alright?”

Sam and Dean exchanged one of those weird conversation looks that were slowly starting to drive Stiles insane. Couldn’t they just _talk_?

“Sure,” Sam said, breaking eye contact with his brother.

The three hunters sat down in perfect synchronization, making Stiles feel sort of really uncomfortable, and slightly jealous, he recognized somewhere in the back of his mind, that he would never be that in sync with anyone.

As everyone else found seats, the sound of the front door being thrown open was carried into the living room and seconds later the rest of the pack appeared.

“Stiles is okay, right?” Scott said in a rush.

“You’re kidding me,” Dean said in disbelief.

“It’s simpler if they’re here,” Derek said, too defensively if you asked Stiles, but no one did, of course. “I would’ve told them everything anyway.”

“We’re not spewing our life stories to a bunch of teenage werewol—“

“Then you can leave.”

“Derek,” Mr. Argent said, “this is my house, in case you’ve forgotten.” Dean gave Derek a smug look. “ _But_ ,” Chris continued, “the pack stays here.” The smug expression was wiped from Dean’s face. “Now, please. What makes you so experienced?” he asked as he took a seat in the recliner opposite the couch.

The rest of the pack arranged themselves on the floor, sensing one (or three) long stories.

“I’m assuming you won’t accept the abridged version,” Dean guessed.

“I think I candle handle the full-length.”

“Alright, then. Our mom didn’t just die, she was killed by a demon. It wasn’t pretty. She was stuck up on the ceiling, cut open, and the whole place was on fire. I pretty much pulled Sam out of the burning house, and after what we saw…our dad took up hunting. He got real good real fast; he used to be in the marines, that was probably part of it. He told me what was in the dark from the get-go, and I watched Sam while he was gone. I almost died, my dad sold his soul to swap places with me, we found out Sam had demon blood in him, killed the demon that killed our mom, Sam died, I sold my soul to save him and went to Hell. I was down there a while before Cas pulled me out—up until then, I thought angels were a load of shit. While I was in Hell, Sam got played by a demon, Ruby. Turns out, upstairs had some big plans laid out for us. In Hell, I…Cas, why don’t you take over,” Dean suggested.

Castiel looked away from Dean and to Mr. Argent. “Dean broke the first seal, jump starting the apocalypse. He didn’t know, of course. Neither him, nor Sam, had any idea how big their roles were. Dean was meant to be Michael—one of the arch angels’—vessel, and Sam was to be Lucifer’s.”

“Wait,” Stiles said. “When you say Lucifer, you mean, like, Satan, Armageddon, our Dark Lord?”

Castiel frowned at him. “Yes, the Dark…Satan.” He turned back to Chris. “He used to be an angel, before he was cast out. There were sixty-six seals that had to break before his cage in Hell could be unlocked. As I was saying, Dean broke the first in Hell—“

“What was the first seal?” Stiles asked.

Castiel looked at him again, not really irked, but not…totally not irked either. It was a weird look. Castiel was weird. “When a righteous man sheds blood in Hell.”

“What does that mean?”

Castiel glanced to Dean before he spoke. “He tortured souls.”

A menacing growl crept from Derek’s throat. “And we’re supposed to trust them? This is—“

“ _Derek_ ,” Chris snapped. “Let them finish.”

“That’s what Hell is,” Castiel explained. “The souls there are tortured until they begin torturing themselves. Dean can’t be held accountable for breaking, everyone does eventually. And after they torture for so long, they become demons. After the seal was broken, I was sent to bring Dean back to Earth, where Sam had been fulfilling his part of the prophecy. After a time, I…I began to ‘have doubts,’ as my superiors said. They believed Lucifer and Michael had to fight, just as it was written, but Dean made me see things differently.” He smiled to himself. “Team Free Will, he said once or twice. That’s who we were. But we got to Sam too late—the angels had taken Dean to keep him away from his brother—and he’d already broke the last seal, thinking he was doing good. He killed Lilith, a powerful demon, and that released Lucifer. From there, all Sam and Dean had to do was say yes to allow Michael and Lucifer to use them as vessels, but they burned the pages of that story. Instead of fighting, Sam said yes to Lucifer and managed to take back control of his body for just long enough to throw himself and Lucifer back into the cage, taking Michael, who had found another body to use other than Dean’s, with him.” Castiel stopped for a moment, and Dean laid a hand on his shoulder. Castiel gave a miniscule shake of his head.

“Heaven turned into an anarchy after that,” Sam continued. “Most of the powerful angels were dead, sides started forming. One angel, Raphael, wanted to restart the apocalypse, and Castiel sided with humanity. Michael and Lucifer fighting would’ve destroyed the earth. But Cas’ side was losing, and…he had to make some desperate decisions. He made a deal with Crowley—he used to a demon, now he’s King of Hell. They opened up Purgatory and were going to split the souls, but Cas didn’t want anymore power falling into Crowley’s hands, so he took them all in himself. Purgatory’s where all the monsters go. There’s a lot more out there than just werewolves,” Sam said. “Vampires, wendigos, shape shifters, skin walkers, ghouls, rugarus, changelings. A different breed of werewolves. The worst is Leviathans. They were wiped out before humans stepped foot here, but Cas swallowed them up, too. The side effects were…not so great. He kind of became God for a while.”

“ _Oh my god!_ ” Stiles exclaimed. “I remember that—you, you were on the news. You went on that killing spree—“

“Side effects,” Sam cut him off sharply. “He had no idea that would happen. We got him to return the souls, but the Leviathans stayed. Dick Roman, Roman Industries—Leviathans. They crashed and burned after Dean and Cas killed Dick. But, once again, unseen side effects. Kill him and stand too close, get sent straight to Purgatory. That’s where he and Cas went for a year, until they got pulled out.”

“How?” Stiles asked.

Sam glanced at Dean and he took over. “We don’t know,” Dean said. “We don’t have anything to go off of.”

Chris gave a measured nod. “Do you three have a last name? Or you two. I’m guessing angels don’t have last names.”

“Winchester,” Dean said.

Chris smiled to himself. “I should’ve known. That son of a bitch.”

Sam and Dean swapped looks. “Known what?” they asked in unison.

“Your dad was John Winchester?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “His name was John.”

Chris stood up and walked around to lean on the back of the chair, shaking his finger. “I met him once, on a hunt.”

“So you know there’s more than just werewolves?” Dean questioned.

He glanced at his daughter. “I knew about vampires,” he said. “I finished off a pack of werewolves, oh, it must’ve been well over ten years ago. The rest of my group had left and I was going to take care of the bodies, but there was a girl being attacked in this alley. My God, I can’t believe you’re his kids. I told it to stop, but then I saw it’s face. Fired a couple shots, didn’t do anything. It jumped me and its teeth were a hair’s width away from my neck when your father showed up. Saved my ass, for sure. I owed him, so I asked if he wanted help finishing out the nest, which he’d told me he was after. We didn’t talk much, and he told me to go home, but I got his name.”

Stiles glanced over at Allison, whose eyes were burning holes into her dad’s skull. It was obvious he knew she was glaring, but he didn’t acknowledge it. Keeping the existence of vampires secret from your werewolf hunter daughter wasn’t bound to go over well.

Chris straightened up. “Derek, why don’t you introduce your pack,” and that wasn’t a suggestion, and Derek was quite obviously _not_ happy about it. Lydia, thankfully, took over, pointing at and naming each person.

“So,” Dean said. “We’ll keep watch outside Stiles’ house for the night.”

“I’ll take him home,” Derek volunteered, and if he did so a little too quickly, no one seemed to notice.

 

Stiles could just _feel_ the hunters watching as Derek dropped him off, but he did his best to ignore it. He asked one last question before getting out of the Camaro. “Did you know about other supernatural creatures? Before all this?”

“I’d heard legends,” Derek said. “Nothing more. I thought most of them were myths, but it doesn’t look like that anymore.”

Okay, so it wasn’t just _one_ last question. “What about the other werewolves they mentioned? Did you know about them?”

“They’re mutts,” Derek said. “We don’t associate with them.”

“It would’ve been nice to know, all the same,” Stiles said.

“I can’t fill you in on everything little detail about everything,” Derek snapped. “Just get out, the hunters are going to start wondering.”

“Yeah, in a minute, but aren’t you having a hard time processing the whole freaking _angel_ part in this? ‘Cause that can’t just be me, I mean—“

“Oh my god, Stiles. Just accept it. Or don’t believe it if you don’t want to, it doesn’t really matter. His job is to protect you right now. But if they don’t, if they do something—“

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll call you,” Stiles said. “Because phone plus werewolf trumps angel plus hunter squared.” At the dark look Derek gave him, he quickly added, “Not that I’m doubting your wolfy abilities, it’s just the numbers alone—“

“Get. _Out._ ”

“Okay, okay! Sheesh.”

 

* * *

 

Dean wasn’t a fan of the fact that they were going to be helping werewolves, regardless of their humanity or souls or whatever the hell. Especially after what the son of a bitch— _Peter_ , sorry—had done to Cas. Dean didn’t give a shit what would happen, he wanted to rip that fucker’s head off.

Sam took first watch with Cas (damn persistent angel) while Dean retrieved the Impala. When he came back, Sam was dozing in the front and Cas was sitting in back, head against the window, knees bent, toes against the opposite side door.

Dean knocked on Sam’s window, startling him awake, and he gave Dean a sour look.

“Baby’s back,” he said after his brother rolled down the window. “Ditch this piece of crap. Cas, you go with him and zap your asses back here.” The left and reappeared outside the Impala after no more than ten minutes. Cas climbed in the back again and arranged himself like before.

“So,” Dean said, hunkering down. “Which angel’s got dibs on the kid’s bloodline?”

“Do you remember Metatron?”

“The angel that wrote the Leviathan tablet,” Sam recognized.

“Stiles is a vessel for Sandalphon, his brother.”

“Angels have brothers?” Dean asked.

“Not in the human sense,” Cas said. “They were made from…it’s a bit difficult to explain. I could try to—“

“You know what, I believe you,” Dean said. “I don’t need to understand it.”

Minutes passed in silence, and Sam eventually told Dean he was going to catch some sleep. “Wake me up if anything happens or when you get tired,” he said.

Sam fell asleep fast, and after a half hour or so, Dean went to the back of the Impala, glad when the opening and closing doors didn’t wake Sam.

Cas looked up at him with those big blue eyes for several seconds, not speaking.

“Are you gonna move your feet?” Dean eventually asked.

Cas pulled his knees up against his chest, only to stretch them out over Dean’s lap once he was inside. Dean didn’t mention it.

“So this kid, he’s pretty important?”

“Yes,” Cas said, staring intently out the window and across the street at the Stilinski house. “Assuming Sandalphon is still alive.”

“The God Rock writer brothers are missing?”

Cas nodded. “They haven’t been heard from in ages.”

Dean didn’t bother asking how long ages was.

Cas shrugged out of his jacket, folded it in his lap, and Dean’s eyes automatically moved to the junction between shoulder and neck.

“Dean.” His voice demanded Dean’s eyes on his, and he locked them there. “This is not the boy’s fault.”

Dean didn’t argue it, because he knew that, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t still pissed. “No, it’s his wild dog’s fault. You know, I think I prefer actual _monster_ werewolves. They don’t do packs often.”

Cas gave him a stern look and Dean rolled his eyes. Stupid, stubborn, pissy angel.

But he was _his_ stupid, stubborn, pissy angel, so after a while, they ended up with Dean’s arm around Cas, Cas’ head against his chest, and both of them with their heads turned facing the Stilinski house. Dean’s fingers danced idly through Cas’ hair.

 

Around two a.m., Stiles came outside. Dean hadn’t woken Sam up yet—(he let Sam get as much sleep as possible after the Lucifer-in-my-head episode. His brother’d had untreatable insomnia. No, Dean still wasn’t over it.)

Stiles knocked on the window and, _why bother with stealth anyway?_ Dean thought sarcastically.

The window tapping had woken Sam up, so Dean opened the door and got a full view of the kid in plaid pants and a ridiculous looking “stud muffin” shirt.

“My dad left like an hour ago. You guys can like, come inside or something.”

“You kind of just like, blew our cover,” Dean imitated.

Stiles shrugged, unfazed. “Derek said Castiel smelled weird, so you never really had much cover.”

Dean felt rather than saw Sam smirk, and was tempted to snap at him to shut up, but he caught Stiles staring at the way he and Cas were arranged like he was just now noticing it. “I’ve got food,” he added, and, okay, Dean _was_ pretty hungry, having not had supper yet, so Sam probably was, too. As for Cas, Dean made a mental note to ask him later if he needed to eat or if he just did because they did.

“Or you can stay out here.” Stiles shrugged again.

“Why are you even awake?” Dean asked, sliding his arm off Cas’ shoulder. “Don’t you have school?”

“Would you be able to sleep if a pack of Alphas were after you?”

Dean made a sound of agreement. “Well, what do you think, Cas? Do you wanna get out of the car?”

“Some more space would be nice,” Cas said quietly, and the three of them got out and followed Stiles to the house.

“Dean, we should tell him he’s a vessel—“

“Cas, not now,” Dean cut him off in a hushed tone. “That’ll probably just freak him out more.”

“More?”

“You’re an angel,” Dean pointed out. “That takes some getting used to.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Stiles asked over his shoulder.

“Your extremely broody, furry boyfriend.”

“Oh my god, he’s not my boyfriend.”

Dean snorted because, sure, maybe he wasn’t, but he was definitely _something_. “’Course he’s not.”

“Fine, then. Stop exchanging secrets with _your_ extremely broody, _feathered_ boyfriend.”

Dean might’ve been thrown by the comeback, but he was used to catty remarks about him and Cas by now. Balthazar, Uriel, Meg. What Dean wasn’t sure about was if he was that transparent or if they were just that sarcastic. He couldn’t remember which came first: the remarks or his feelings. Probably the remarks; Uriel’s death was before Dean started thinking about Cas like that. Or was it?

“Yeah, well, feathers could take wolfy any day.” Any day he was all there.

“Let’s put the boyfriends away,” Sam said as Stiles shut the door after them, taking up the role of mediator.

The sound of a phone ringing came from another room and Stiles said, “So, uh, help yourself to whatever, I guess. Not the alcohol, though—my dad would notice,” and left to go get his phone.

 

_“Dean?”_

_It was a week after they’d been yanked out of Purgatory, and Cas was curled up on the couch, asleep, but still in Dean’s sight. Always in Dean’s sight._

_“Yeah?”_

_“I, uh…I noticed you haven’t been drinking. Not that it’s bad, but you used to, like, all the time.”_

_Dean shrugged. “No decent bars in Purgatory, believe it or not. I guess I haven’t really thought about it since I’ve been back.”_

_“I still can’t believe it,” Sam said. “I just wish we knew what pulled you out.”_

_“It’d be nice,” Dean said. “But we don’t have anywhere to start. Nobody left a convenient handprint this time. We’ve got jack. Not even that.”_

_Sam stared at Cas’ sleeping form. “Do you think…do you think maybe it was the angels?”_

_“I thought so at first, maybe. I asked Cas if he could fly up and check, but I guess he’s low on mojo. He couldn’t do much in Purgatory with his powers, and I guess he still can’t.”_

_“But he wings are still working,” Sam stated; Cas had zapped them to where he was after they’d been busted out._

_“Speaking of wings,” Dean said, “I saw his.”_

_“What?”_

_“Yeah. In the Big P.”_

_“I thought his true form was supposed to burn eyes out. How did you…”_

_“The rules are different there. Things can’t hold back their true from for long. Vampires can’t hide their fangs, werewolves are always werewolves. Leviathans—“ Dean couldn’t say it, hand gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white. “After a while, he couldn’t hide his wings anymore. I guess I should be glad he didn’t just turn into a floating light or something. But man, they were_ massive _. Black, but opalescent—like…I don’t even know, it was just_ awesome _. Wait, I’ve got a feather—“_

_He went to his bag to find it, where he’d tucked it in Dad’s journal._

_“Uh, Dean? Am I allowed to look?”_

_“Yeah,” Dean said. “Cas explained it. The feather’s separate from him now, so anyone can look at it.” He handed the black, velvety plume, tall as his hand, to Sam, and his brother twirled it between his fingers after he got past the hesitation._

_“Whoa.” A rainbow of colors danced along the barbs, entrancing Sam. “Guy’s got wings.” He passed it back to Dean and Dean placed it back between the two pages._

_Cas sat up with a start just as Dean shut the journal, and he was by his side in an instant. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” hands squeezing his shoulders gently._

_Cas shut his eyes tight and inhaled slowly, fingers clutching at Dean’s shirt until he was okay again._

_“I showed Sam your feather,” Dean said, just for something to say. “He thought it was pretty awesome.”_

_Behind him, Sam smiled in support of the statement._

_Cas raised his eyes slowly, blue peeking out from under dark lashes. “Balthazar had beautiful wings.”_

_Dean slid his hands down Cas’ arms. “No guilt-tripping yourself right now.”_

_His angel cast his eyes downward again. “He was my brother. He was my brother and I killed him.”_

_“You weren’t yourself,” Dean assured him. “He forgives you, he wouldn’t hold it against you.”_

_“It doesn’t change what I did.”_

_Sam mumbled something about food and left the room._

 

“Dean? You with me?”

Dean shook the memory. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”

Stiles came back into the kitchen, dropping his phone on the counter.

“Who called?” Sam asked.

“My extremely broody, furry, and did I mention annoying? boyfriend. Because I am completely one hundred percent incapable of taking care of myself.”

Dean looked the kid over. “It’s not like you’re ridiculously scrawny. You could learn.”

“Yeah, well, Derek doesn’t seem to think so. Otherwise I would’ve started training with the pack a long time ago.”

“We could help you out,” Sam said. “Teach you how to fight, how to protect yourself.”

Stiles’ eyes widened and his mouth fell open. “You guys—you’d do that?”

“While we’re here,” Dean said.

Stiles silently freaked out for several moments, trying to keep still. “That would be _awesome_. I mean—grade A hunters, teaching _me_ —“

“Tone down the fangirling,” Dean warned.

“Right. Right, okay. When do we start? Now?”

Sam quirked a smile. “How about tomorrow,” he suggested. “As long as the pack is…okay with it.”

Stiles straightened up. “The pack has nothing to do with it. If werewolves won’t teach me how to fight, I’ll learn from hunters.”

Dean grabbed a Coke from the fridge and pointed a finger at Stiles. “You’re better of this way. Hunters kill more monsters than monsters hunters.”

Stiles leaned back against the counter, frowned at the floor. “They’re not all monsters, you know.”

Dean exchanged a glance with his brother, and Sam gave a _this one’s yours_ gesture.

“Okay, maybe…maybe you’re right. Maybe they’re not all bad. But most of them are. And if they haven’t killed yet, they will. Probably,” he added at the glare Stiles gave him.

“Everybody makes mistakes.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Stiles shook his head. “Nothing. I mean. You’ve killed people. Or things, or whatever. At least, you and Sam have, I don’t think angels kill, but—“

“You’re wrong,” Cas said, and damn it, Dean should’ve seen that one coming. “Angels aren’t what humans have painted them to be. We’re warriors, heaven’s most dangerous weapon.”

“You—you mean—holy shit, are you kidding? Even angels are killers?”

Dean cast Cas a concerned look. If Stiles tipped him over the edge…

“Not all of us are ‘killers’, we…we were soldiers. Soldiers with one purpose until…”

“Until they weren’t,” Dean cut in. “If you keep pushing, you can have fun cowering behind dogs for the rest of your life.”

“Sorry, jeez. Touchy.”

“Okay, children,” Sam said. “Stiles, how about you get some rest before morning. We’re not going to teach you anything if you haven’t slept,”—and Dean had to laugh at that because that was rich, coming from them—“and we’ll go back outside to keep watch. Sound good?”

Stiles sighed. “Yeah, fine. But don’t feel like you have to go back out. My dad won’t be back for at least another hour, probably two.”

“I think it’d be best if we didn’t chance him walking in on three strangers while his son’s asleep in his room,” Sam said.

Stiles shrugged. “Whatever. It’s just weird,” he continued as he turned to head up. “I don’t know if people on a stake out are strictly business or supposed to be…” His voice drifted to the point where they couldn’t understand what he was saying.

Dean slapped Cas lightly on the back. “Time to go back out, buddy.”

Cas watched the kid until he disappeared from sight. “Maybe we should tell the Argents that he’s a vessel—“

“Drop the vessel thing, Cas,” Dean said, harsher than he’d intended. “That’ll bring too many questions, and questions do nothing but complicate things.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbeta'd. half because i'm lazy and half because i just want to keep going because i'm on a writing role of late.

Sam had dropped Stiles off at school in the morning; they were going to start teaching him after school and not having to drive meant saving gas, and saving gas meant saving cash, so Stiles was A-okay with that.

Lydia knew something was up from the moment she saw him, and it’s not like he’d been planning on _lying_ to her about it, but he hadn’t exactly thought he’d wind up telling her either. But he did, of course.

“There’s room in the car for one more, right?”

Stiles slammed his locker shut, narrowly escaping a cascade of papers that would have fallen out. “Wait, what?”

“You think you get to learn to be a big hero and I’m going to stay a damsel in distress? I’m learning to fight, too.”

“Lydia, you’ve never been a damsel in—okay, okay, you’re coming.”

She put the daggers away, replacing them with a warm smile. “Great.”

She spun to go to class, but Stiles followed her.

“Wait a sec—not like I’m against you coming, but why don’t you just have Allison teach you? You two could be like Black Widow and Hawkeye. Except a girl.”

“I don’t know,” she said, when she obviously did. “Why don’t you?”

“I asked. Once.” It had been shortly after the kanima issue had been resolved. He’d gone up to Allison and asked her if she’d help him learn to fight, but she’d just smiled at him and said there was no need. Jackson would no longer be killing anyone, the wolves were under control, and if another monster showed up, he had to entire pack to protect him. “She said there wasn’t a point in me learning. But you’ve got super-persuasive powers, if you asked her, she’d say yes—“

“I don’t want to learn from the Argents, okay?” She’d raised her voice a bit too loudly and brought it back down, ignoring the looks a few students gave her. “They tried to kill Jackson, Stiles. And I understand why, but that doesn’t change the fact that they tried. I don’t want to learn from the werewolves either, and even if I did, they wouldn’t let me. We’re _human_. And that makes us weak. Maybe not mentally or emotionally, but physically. And they’re too scared that we’ll get hurt. The Winchesters, though? They’re…they’re _fierce_ , Stiles. They held off how many of the pack? And without any guns, at least until you showed up. They each had a knife— _one knife_ —and that was enough for them. I want to be good, and they’re _really_ good.”

Stiles shook his head. “Okay, but they tried to kill Jackson, too.”

“They didn’t _know_ him, Stiles. They hunt monsters to protect people, and that’s what they were doing. They didn’t turn against someone from their own town, their own _circle_ , and try to murder them. And I don’t think they would. They don’t have a code like the Argents. All they have is each other. You had to be able to see that. And did you hear what they did? They bend rules. They break them. They don’t let each other die—they flat out _refuse_. And they’ve all made mistakes—big, massive mistakes—but they don’t _kill_ each other because of it. They started the freaking apocalypse and then _stopped_ it! You know what someone who followed a ‘code’ would do if they discovered who started the end of the world? I’m pretty sure it would involve killing them. Remember what Castiel said? Team Free Will. Not Team Follow-the-Stupid-Ass-Code.  And—colossal point— _they won against the Devil._ No offense to Allison and her dad, but I’d rather learn from them.”

Stiles stood sort of awkwardly, trying to avoid the weird looks people were shooting them. They’d gotten to her class and she’d finished her passionate soliloquy standing by the door for any passerby who walked too close to hear.

“Wow. Um. Yeah. Yeah, I see where you’re coming from.”

“Oh, for the love of God, Stiles, I’m beyond caring what anyone thinks. I’ll see you later.” She grabbed his shirt’s sleeve before he could walk away. “And don’t you dare let them leave without me.”

“I wouldn’t do that!”

She released him. “Good. Have fun being late to class.”

Stiles jerked his head around to look at the clock behind him. “Oh, sh—“

 

He hit the forest floor with a thud, scattering fallen leaves. “You broke my tailbone!”

“No, you _let_ me break your tailbone,” Dean corrected. “You’ve gotta be faster than that.”

Stiles let himself lay on the ground for a few seconds, gaze skyward. He could see Castiel, perched in a tree, looking down at him. (How had he even gotten up there?) “What are you, a squirrel?” he called up.

Castiel tilted his head, not understanding.

“He’s not a squirrel, genius,” Dean said, offering a hand to help Stiles up.

“Can it be Lydia’s turn now?”

Dean looked over his shoulder. “Sam, you wanna switch?”

“I’ll keep watch,” he said. “Keep playing Mr. Winchester.”

Dean muttered something Stiles didn’t understand.

“You know, we could’ve found some shorts again,” his brother teased. What were they even talking about?

“Alright, Miss Martin. Ready?”

She stepped forward and gave a nod. She’d requested (though you never really denied a request from Lydia Martin) that they stop at her house after school so she could change, and now she was wearing a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved hunter green shirt. (He wondered if she’d been trying to make a statement.) First of all, Lydia not wearing a skirt was crazy enough. But her outfit was so _plain_ it kind of blew Stiles’ mind. And her hair was even pulled back into a simple ponytail. Really weird. Not bad, but weird.

“What first?” she asked.

“First, keep your feet apart. Just like that, good. Arms up. Now try and hit me.”

She didn’t question him like Stiles had. She took a few moments, taking everything in, and went for it. She failed horribly, but no worse than Stiles. She stumbled forwards and fell onto her hands and knees, but got right back up.

“Don’t throw all your weight into unless you’re a hundred and ten percent sure you’re going to make impact. Otherwise if you miss, whatever you’re trying to take down gains the upper hand.”

She went for it again, faster this time, but still her fist didn’t connect with anything.

“You have to balance logic and intuition,” Sam called from where he was standing a few yards away.

“Should we really be practicing hand-to-hand?” Stiles questioned. “Werewolves are super strong. Wouldn’t guns be better?”

“Do you carry a gun on you twenty-four-seven?” Dean asked rhetorically.

Stiles heaved a sigh and watched as Lydia worked, figuring some things out herself and the things she didn’t, the Winchesters pointed out. She was scarily determined, totally focused, eyes never straying from Dean’s movements, which were constantly shifting between lithe and brute. Stiles bet Castiel was the agile one in a fight. Sam was just enormous. If Stiles had gone up against him, he probably wouldn’t have bothered even trying.

Lydia stuck with it more than Stiles had, and the fight slowly became a dance. Things got really interesting when Lydia figured out her height could be an advantage. She began darting in and out, ducking when Dean tried to get her in a headlock. Stiles had the feeling he was going easy, but still, he wasn’t _not_ making it hard. Sometimes he could almost imagine she was on ice with skates on. She blocked what would’ve been a blow to her head, and then everything changed so fast Stiles barely had time to see what was happening.

Dean was on the ground, someone on top of him. Sam had a gun drawn and suddenly Castiel was _right there_.

“ _Jackson!_ ” Lydia shrieked.

“What’s going on?” he barked, and, yup, that was definitely Jackson who just tackled Dean Winchester to the ground when he’d been trying to teach his girlfriend how to protect herself. Great situation.

She shoved him off Dean, and let it be known you did not have to be a werewolf to have claws. “What are _you_ doing? You’re supposed to be with Derek!”

“And you’re supposed to be at your house!” he shouted as he got to his feet.

“Don’t tell me where I’m _supposed to be_ , Jackson Whittemore. I never said I was going straight home. _You_ said you were helping the pack look for the Alphas today.”

“Derek wanted somebody to go check on Stiles; he said he was with the hunters.”

She took a step forward, getting dangerously close. “The hunters have names. And they’re teaching me and Stiles what no one else would, so you can just leave us alone. Derek doesn’t need to worry about Stiles getting eaten or kidnapped or _whatever_ he’s so paranoid about. You can go and tell him I said that.” When Jackson didn’t move, she snapped, “ _Now_ ,” and he left.

Dean brushed his jeans off and let out a whistle. “You’re a little pistol.”

She spun around to face him, hair whipping over her shoulder. “I know. Can we keep going?”

Dean gestured to Sam. “Why don’t you two have a go.”

Sam ambled over and Lydia tilted her head back to look up at him. “He’s taller than you.”

Dean laughed, but it was shallow. “He’s just a giant puppy unless you make him mad. And not every werewolf is going to be you-sized.”

“How do I even fight someone twice my size? Literally.”

“He’s only got three inches on me,” Dean said. “Don’t think about it.”

“You can probably run through his legs,” Stiles said, not really sure if he was kidding or serious.

“You’re not off the hook, kid,” Dean said. “With me.”

 

That night, Derek, Isaac, and Scott stayed outside Stiles’ house. His dad was home, so they couldn’t come inside, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. Derek was being all pissy because he’d just texted him earlier that day about going with the Winchesters and Castiel, and then had proceeded to ignore all his calls. But seriously? Sending Jackson? Stiles could do silent treatment. At least, when Derek was outside and Stiles was inside. That probably helped. A lot. And so what if Stiles had told Sam, Dean, and Castiel about Erica and Boyd without asking Derek first? They needed to understand what was going on.

And since when did Stiles side with hunters over werewolves? Footnote, see Lydia’s epic speech about free will and loyalty.

The next couple days passed without anything happening—no murders either, which was reason to be wary. He and Lydia went to train every day after school. He and Dean got along well, which Stiles thought was pretty freaking weird, but hey, he wasn’t protesting. They both liked classic movies (geek movies, by some standards) and shared a similar sense of humor.

Saturday afternoon, they brought lunch with them and snacked throughout their session. An hour in, Dean held up a hand. “Time for something new.”

Lydia exhaled heavily. “Like what?”

“Me and Sam are human,” Dean said. “We can only move so fast. To get an idea of what you’re going to be up against, we’re gonna bring Cas into this.”

“I’ve haven’t seen him at super speed,” Stiles said, pushing a hand through his hair. He was letting it grow out, who knew why. Just for a change, mostly.

“He’s not the same as he used to be,” Dean said. “But he can still flap around. It’ll teach you to be quick. And not just moving, but seeing, too.” He gestured to Castiel and the angel vanished into thin air and reappeared several times in quick succession, each time coming at Dean from a different angle, and each time, Dean met his blows, hand for hand. “That’s what you’re working up to. But first, you’ll just work on trying to keep him in your sight. So. Lydia, why don’t you go first.”

“Let’s do this,” she said eagerly.

Castiel appeared behind her, tapped her shoulder, and disappeared before she had even begun to turn.

“ _Whoa_ ,” she breathed, but he had already vanished to another spot.

After a solid ten minutes, Dean said, “That’s enough of that today. Stiles, you can go tomorrow.”

“He’s too fast.”

The five of them looked over to see Derek approaching. Castiel didn’t look surprised, and Stiles couldn’t see the brothers’ reactions.

“Werewolves don’t just vaporize. They _move_. You’re being unrealistic.”

Dean shrugged. “Why teach them to be adequate when they can be better?”

“Why teach them in the middle of the woods where the Alphas could show up any time?”

“We’d notice,” Dean said.

“Like you noticed Jackson?”

“He didn’t pose a threat until the last minute.”

“So,” Derek drawled, “what you’re saying is you’re only aware of a presence if its intentions are harmful.”

“I’m sorry, have you been to—“

“Dean, stop.” Castiel laid a hand on his shoulder. “Stiles and Lydia are safe with us,” Castiel said. “You seem to want to take care of the Alphas. That’s fine. But we’re going to be around until the problem is taken care of. Teaching two capable humans to protect themselves is a sensible way to spend the time you’re not trying to avoid us because of your distrust. It’s perfectly understandable after what happened to your family.”

Stiles jaw the muscles in Derek’s jaw twitch and that was rarely a good sign. “Fine. Stiles, Lydia. You want to learn how to fight werewolves?”

The friends exchanged a glance, unsure.

He lifted his brow, waiting.

“Yeah…” Stiles said slowly. “Among other things.”

Derek shrugged out of his leather jacket and dropped it at the base of a tree. “Okay.”

Okay. _Okay?_ That was it?

“They should see a human and wolf in a fight,” Derek suggested.

Dean nodded, appraising Derek as he came closer. “Fair.”

“Uh…Dean?”

“A human, Sam. You’re sasquatch.”

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck. Absolutely nothing could go wrong here. He glanced around, knowing Cas was no longer immediately beside him. He spied him in a tree again, alternating between looking around and directly and Dean and Derek.

“You wanna make the first move, Winchester?”

“The honor’s yours, wolfy.”

Derek didn’t waste a second before pouncing. The hit the ground, but Dean rolled back and kicked him off, and the two were on their feet, circling each other again. The routine was fast-paced, not allowing time for breath. Derek lashed out, muscles rippling, Dean grabbed his wrist, Dean through a punch, Derek slanted his body to avoid it. Underneath it all was that crazy tension. The fight was a conversation.

_You came uninvited to my town._

_You let werewolves go on a killing spree._

_You threatened my human._

_You attacked my angel._

Except Stiles wasn’t ‘his’ human, that was just a dramatization on his brain’s part.

An indefinite amount of time later, Dean was winning. It wasn’t deniable, and Stiles wasn’t sure if he was upset that Derek wasn’t as invincible as he’d built him up to be or smug because, _ha_ , Stiles really was learning from the best.

Dean stopped, unexpectedly, like he’d heard something the others hadn’t. Castiel was there again, all of a sudden. “That’s enough. They’re here to learn.”

“Cas is right.” Sam took a few steps forward. “They didn’t come just to watch you two angst-ridden idiots battle it out.”

“Wow, thanks, Sam,” Dean said, voice drowned in sarcasm.

“One of them should go up against Derek now,” Sam said. “Get used to it.”

“Stiles will,” Lydia said after a moment. He turned around to glare at her and she glared right back, daring him to tell her no.

“Sure, I see how it is,” Stiles said. “Put your basic Pokemon out first. You don’t need them anyway.”

Lydia flicked his forehead. “Dean went first, stupid. And you’re not a basic Pokemon. You’re a Stiles.”

“Are you gonna make the first move?” Derek pressed.

Stiles stood opposite of Derek. “Probably not.”

Derek pressed his lips together briefly, gave one sharp nod. Stiles took that opportunity to grab his arm and twist it around, shocking the older guy. And no, Stiles didn’t think he’d ever get over how freaking _firm_ Derek’s arms were.

Derek yanked out of his grip and did to Stiles what Stiles had done to him. Of course, he didn’t have super strength, so getting his arms freed was considerably more difficult, especially when Derek was _that close_ and his fingers were wrapped around Stiles arm, pressed tight against his wrist—

Nope. Not gonna go there.

He slammed his heel into Derek’s shin, and that was payback for all the times Derek had slammed _him_ around. Ha. He got one arm free and elbowed him in the gut, sending Derek back two steps and setting his other arm free.

But in the end, Derek was a werewolf and Stiles was an amateur with no supernatural abilities whatsoever and—

“ _Oh my god!_ ”

From above him, Derek gave him a what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you look.

“ _Supernatural!_ ” Stiles said excitedly, turning his head to look at Sam, Dean, and Cas. “I can’t believe it took me so long—Superfreakingnatural!”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look that seemed to say, _Not again_ , but Stiles barely noticed because _ho-ly shit_.

“The books—Derek, get off me—by Carver Edlund! You’re Sam and Dean Winchester. But you’re _real_ and—“ He sat up, trying to wrap his head around it. He was having to wrap his head around a lot of things lately.

“Chuck Shurley,” Castiel said from up in his tree, “was a prophet.”

“Chuck Shurley?”

“Carver Edlund was just a pen name,” Sam explained. “Chuck Shurley is his real name, and yeah, he’s a prophet. Was.”

“I would say I don’t get it,” Stiles said, getting to his feet, “but I think I do and it’s just crazy. Like everything else about you weirdos.”

“The Winchester gospel,” Castiel said, appearing by Dean’s side. “That’s what it would’ve been someday.”

“So there was a prophet that wrote books about you guys?” Lydia put together.

“Basically,” Dean said. “Of course, we didn’t know about it for quite some time. Didn’t believe it at first either, but we couldn’t deny it. And the books aren’t exactly ‘popular’. But that doesn’t matter, we already told you what happened. Let’s stay focused. Lydia, your turn.”

She nodded once and walked up to Derek, her features composed into what Stiles had come to recognize as I’m-not-showing-anyone-what-I’m-feeling-because-I-don’t-want-them-to-know expression. “Don’t you dare go easy on me,” she said.

And he didn’t. And she hit her head on the ground. And her head split open. And she kept going. And then Derek eased up a bit. Lydia noticed.

She shoved him back. “I told you not to go easy.”

“Lydia, your head’s bleeding—a lot.”

“And? You think that I just won’t get hit in a fight? I won’t bleed? I won’t break bones?”

Stiles worried at the inside of his cheek. Lydia was being scary-serious about this, and he didn’t know why. Sure, he understood her wanting to be able to protect herself, but she was bleeding from her head and this wasn’t _real_ yet.

Derek shifted awkwardly, glancing at the Winchesters as if she’d listen to them.

“If she wants to keep going, she can,” Dean said.

“See?” Lydia snapped. “They get it.”

Derek gave Dean a dirty look. “Lydia, you’re not a hunter,” he said. “You—you’re a normal human that stumbled into a different world—“

“I’m immune,” she hissed suddenly, shocking Derek into silence.

Dean unfolded his arms from across his chest. “Immune?”

She spun to face him. “Yes. I got bit and I didn’t turn,” she said. “Nothing happened.”

“Cas?”

The angel canted his head, looking at Lydia like if he stared hard enough he could figure it all out. “I don’t know. Immunity is…there are specific individuals. If she was born one of them, I would know.”

“They’re pre-planned out, too?” Sam asked. “Like prophets?”

“No, but when they’re born we’re aware of it.”

Dean turned back to Derek. “Who bit her?”

“It doesn’t matter, she didn’t turn, and it’s been taken care of.”

Dean marched right up to the werewolf, standing a couple inches taller than him.

“A werewolf bit a human,” he said, voice dangerously low. “You tell me who.”

Derek pressed his lips together and jutted his chin out slightly.

Dean grabbed his shirt and slammed his back against a tree. “I said _who bit her_?”

“It was Peter!” Stile blurted without thinking. Derek shot daggers at him, but Dean had a scary look in his eyes and Stiles didn’t want him snapping and killing Derek. And Peter was a dick anyway.

Dean let go of Derek, none too gently. “Peter as in Hale?”

“He was institutionalized,” Castiel reasoned. “He may not have been well at the time—“

“He _bit_ —“

“You three broke the world,” Derek growled bitterly, “and my uncle bites someone and suddenly he’s the bad guy? Explain how that’s fair.”

“He didn’t just _bite_ me!” Lydia shouted suddenly. “And he didn’t just bite _me_.” She wiped her hands off on her jeans. “I’m done for the day. Should I go to the hospital to get this taken care of or will one of you guys do it?” she asked, gesturing to her head.

“We can check it out,” Sam said. “Dean.”

Dean kept his eyes locked on Derek for several nerve-racking seconds. He still looked ready to kill him.

Castiel reached out, fingers barely brushing Dean’s wrist. His lips moved, saying something, but Stiles couldn’t make it out. Whatever it was though, it worked. Dean turned and left without another word.

“I’ll stay with the pack!” Stiles called in a last minute decision he wasn’t even aware he was going to make.

Derek picked up his jacket and shook it out a couple times, more violently than was necessary. “You shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Dude, did you see his face? He was going to rip your head off with his bare hands if you didn’t tell him!”

“Yeah, and now he wants to rip off Peter’s.”

“Better Peter than you.”

“Stiles! Do you not get it? Peter’s the only family I have left. Those three are the weirdest, most unbalanced, close-knit trio I’ve ever seen, and they put themselves on pedestals. They don’t have a right to judge anyone, but here they are, and now they’ll probably kill Peter first chance they get.”

Stiles toed at the forest floor, dragging his foot through a few dry, crunchy leaves. “Not while they’ve got Lydia,” he said quietly. “She won’t let them.”

“Won’t she? She gave him up fast enough. So did you.”

“Derek, come on—we don’t want him _dead_ , but he’s done some messed up shit and he deserves _something_.  Just…not death.”

Derek shook his head. “You should’ve gone with them.”

“I haven’t hung out with the pack in days,” Stiles said. “You can’t tell me I’m not coming with.”

 

* * *

 

Sam dabbed at the cut on Lydia’s head. It was on the edge of her hairline and blood had gotten into her hair. She flinched when the washcloth touched it again.

Dean caught a glimpse of Cas out of the corner of his eyes, wearing a look of frustration, no doubt because he was wishing he could just reach out and heal her.

“So these books,” she said. “How many of them are there?”

“One hundred and four,” Cas said.

Her eyes bulged. “I thought they weren’t popular.”

“They’re not,” Sam said, grabbing a couple steri-strips. “But where there’s a will there’s a way, apparently.”

No one said anything while Sam finished fixing Lydia up.

“So,” she said, “about Peter—“

“There’s no ‘about’,” Dean said.

“Just listen,” Lydia said. “He did bite me.” Her hand moved voluntarily to her side where the scar was.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” she nodded, taking her hand away. “That’s where he bit me.”

“May I see?” Cas asked.

She lifted her shirt to reveal several ugly pink lines marking the otherwise unmarked skin of her side. Cas ran his fingers lightly over it, barely touching. “I could’ve healed this,” he said. “Before I fell.”

“Before you fell?”

“I used to be powerful,” he said. “But now…now I’m hapless. Hopeless.” And that reminded Dean way too much of 2014 and he didn’t want to go there. “I can’t hear the other angels like I used to, so I don’t dare return to Heaven. I don’t even know if I could. I used to smite demons, heal humans, I—I pulled Dean from Hell, and now I’m next to useless.”

Dean was about to call bullshit, but Lydia beat him to it.

“That’s ridiculous,” she said. “You can still fly—you just did, today. And you and Sam and Dean took on a whole pack of werewolves. Not to mention you survived Purgatory, which I’m guessing is a pretty big deal.”

Cas smiled. “You sound like Dean.”

She cast her gaze to the floor for a few moments before raising them again.

“Lydia, what were you going to say about Peter?” Sam asked.

“Just that I think he used to be crazy,” she said. “He killed his niece to become an Alpha and turned Scott later. He was out of control, and Derek killed him. I started hallucinating and it turned out to be Peter. I don’t know how he did it, but he communicated with me, and…I don’t know what I was doing. He convinced me somehow, I don’t really understand it. But he showed me what to do and I did. I brought him back from the grave. He was different then, though. I don’t think he’s crazy anymore.” She let her hair down and shook it out around her shoulders. “I don’t like him and he still scares me, but he’s not the same person that he was.”

 

* * *

 

So they pack had finally found where the Alphas were hiding: a house for sale two towns over. The Alphas weren’t there at the time, and Derek told Peter and Isaac to stay there. He didn’t mention how the Winchesters would be out for Peter’s head.

“Excellent timing,” he snapped after he hung up. “We find where the pack’s been staying, and an hour earlier you told two hunters and an angel Peter was fair game. Do I have to remind you the look in Dean’s eyes when Peter and I grabbed Castiel? He’s probably been _waiting_ for a chance like this to get his hands around Peter’s neck.”

Derek left the room then and Stiles didn’t try to stop him.

“Peter’s had it coming,” Scott told him from where he sat cross-legged on the couch.

“Does Lydia seem different lately?” Jackson asked Stiles. The walls in the living room were painted now, a soft, dark green reminiscent of the woods in spring.

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked.

“I haven’t seen her much,” he said. “Between Derek keeping everyone busy and her hanging around the Winchesters with you. She’s a lot quieter.”

“She’s really throwing herself into learning how to fight. Maybe she’s still pissed at you for tackling Dean.” He fiddled with his phone, turning it over in his hands. Before giving himself any more time to think, he scrolled through his contacts and called Dean. Derek was actually going to kill him for this.

“Yeah?”

“What, no hello, good afternoon?” Stiles joked.

“Good afternoon yourself. What is it?”

“Uh, Peter and Isaac found where the Alphas are staying and just so you know, as soon as I hang up I’m probably going to get my throat ripped out for telling you any of this, but yeah. They’re probably going to go after them tonight, so you should get to Derek’s house ASAP if you want in.”

“Give us a few minutes,” Dean said. “We’ll be there.”

The call ended and Stiles cringed inwardly because he just knew Derek had heard the whole thing and probably hated him even more now. As is, Jackson and Scott were staring at him like he was a foreigner.

“Don’t look at me like that. Them helping us is a good thing.”

“You can’t just be BFFs with them,” Scott said. “If they knew everything about us—“

Stiles jumped up, surprised by how quickly he became angry. “You don’t get to tell me who my friends are,” he lashed. “Not after you started spending all your time with Isaac. And don’t even give me that look—Yes, you have a right to other friends, but you know what? That means I do, too. And if your new BFF is a werewolf, then mine can be a hunter. In fact, mine can be _two_ hunters. And a fallen angel. And the girl I’ve had a crush on since fourth grade. Because, let me say, lately they’ve been preferable company to the pack which I seem to be getting conveniently left out of. I’m a human, and you think I’m totally useless, I know. But I’m trying not to be, so why don’t you just leave me the hell alone about it.”

Scott and Jackson had been staring at him, but their gaze shifted behind him. Upon looking over his shoulder, he saw Derek looking fixedly at him. Stiles tried to march determinedly to the door, but Derek seized him by the arm.

“Why would you think we see you as useless?”

“How are you seriously even asking that question?”

“Stiles, you’re just about the farthest thing from useless we’ve got.”

“Then why do I almost never get to help with anything?”

“Because—the pack cares about you. You’re a big part of what’s holding us together. You’re _part of_ the pack.”

“That’s not what you thought when I ‘ratted out Peter’.”

“Fine, you’re right. But if you left, Scott would go, and if Scott went Isaac and Allison might go.” Stiles wondered if Derek was remembering Jackson and Scott were _right there_. “Lydia probably wouldn’t hang around either, and that means no Jackson. Do you know who that leaves? Me and Peter, and Erica and Boyd if we even find them.”

Stiles shifted uncomfortably. Derek still had a hold of his arm and Stiles didn’t regret jumping down Scott’s throat, but he wanted to stay mad for a little while, not get talked to by Derek like this. It was weird. _Part of the pack?_ Very weird.

“So are you going to let go of me?” he eventually said because there was nothing else _to_ say.

Derek dropped his arm like he’d forgot he’d even been gripping it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lydia-ccentric chapter because she is my favorite and I love her a lot and yes. I hope no one finds this too...far-fetched, or awkward.
> 
>  ~~unbeta'd for the time.~~ _self-beta'd._

Sam, Dean, and Castiel (she’d begun to see that only Dean was allowed to call him Cas, and occasionally Sam) dropped Lydia off before heading out to Derek’s. They looked a little surprised when she didn’t insist upon coming, but they hadn’t protested. She’d given the excuse of not wanting to get in the way, and Stiles would see right through her false pretense, she was certain, but she didn’t care.

Lydia had work to do.

Once at her house, she walked past her mom watching TV and locked herself in her room. She opened her laptop and typed _supernatural carver edlund_ into Google. It took her a while, but she eventually found a place that had the books in stock. None of they major sellers carried them in-store and she didn’t want to have to wait for Amazon to deliver.

 

Three and a half hours later, Lydia was back in her room after driving to an independently owned bookstore and buying the series. The whole damn series. The clerk gave her one of the weirdest looks she’d ever received, but she’d grown used to such looks. He brought her a box from the back to pack them in. Paperbacks of an underground series didn’t cost much, which was nice, not that a higher price would’ve stopped her.

Her mom left as soon as she got back and when asked what was in the box, she lied and said it was for a school project. Lydia locked herself in her room again, not knowing when her mom would be back but that she would undoubtedly still be engrossed whenever it was.

She opened the box by her bed and pulled out the first book. She settled onto her bed, crossed her legs, and began reading about the Winchesters’ escapade with the woman in white.

 

She finished the first book and started the second, found them surprisingly addicting, but at the same time disturbing. These were real things. Real things that had actually happened. She decided werewolves were definitely not the worst thing there was out there. Wendigos sounded terrible.

 

Her phone sat flipped over on her nightstand, forgotten. It buzzed off and on for an hour, but she was completely oblivious, totally rapt in the story/biography. Sam and Dean had just jumped in the water to save Lucas when a knocking on her door yanked her from the past.

“Lydia? Lydia, Jackson’s here to see you. What are you doing?”

She shoved _Dead in the Water_ under her pillow and threw her blanket over the book-filled box by her bed before getting up to unlock the door.

She poked her head out. “What does he want?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask. Do you not want to see him?”

“Tell him I’m busy and I’ll call him later.”

“Are you two fighting?—“

“No, I’m just otherwise occupied at the moment.”

“It’s been hours, Lydia, maybe you should take a break from whatever project it is you’re working on.”

She bit back a rude comment because Jackson was right downstairs and would be able to hear her loud and clear. That was the last thing she needed, the pack finding out…well.

Instead, she shut the door in her mom’s face. Things she hadn’t cared to give much thought were all pouring out from every crevice between the thoughts in her brain, slowly saturating everything, and if she thought about her mother, she felt the urge to hit something and now knowing that she could probably do some damage, she wanted to be left alone. So she pardoned her tactless behavior for the time.

She waited until she heard the door shut before plunking back onto her bed. She puckered her lips in a frown and noticed the light from her phone seeping out from where it was facedown. Stiles had called her. And texted her. And Jackson had called her. And texted. So had Allison, and…so had a number she didn’t know. She considered the possibility that it could be one of the Winchesters and deliberated calling the number to find out. She decided against it and didn’t bother reading any of her messages. If it was good news, there wouldn’t be multiple missed calls and texts, which meant it was bad news, and she didn’t care to hear it just then.

 

* * *

 

“Stiles, get down!”

Stiles hit the floor just as Derek tackled the wolf that had been coming at him full-speed.

“Stop!” Everyone froze as the leader of the Alpha pack came forward. “I see now that we underestimated you. Nor did were we aware you were friends with hunters other than the Argents. But the fact remains that we have two of your members.”

Derek let out a menacing growl.

“Erica, dear. Come out.” A door behind the Alpha opened and _Erica_ emerged from the shadows. The lighting was poor in the abandoned warehouse (so original), but Stiles could see she’d been crying. “Go ahead.”

“Please—we’ll join your pack, just don’t make me—“

The leader raised an eyebrow, daring her to defy him.

“Derek—I’m so sorry.”

“Erica, what’s going on?”

She lunged for him, taking him by surprise, knocking him down. He got himself together quickly then, kicking her off. “ _What the hell?_ ”

She was trying not to cry when she struck again, landing her claws in the skin of Derek’s side and tearing. He roared and shoved her away, but she stayed on her feet. Their whole pack was staring at her, at an utter loss.

“Erica…” the leader warned when she stayed still for too long.

“He’ll kill Boyd,” she said before going at Derek again.

“ _Wait!_ ” Stiles shouted, throwing himself between the two werewolves. But he hadn’t moved fast enough and Erica had already attacked and withdrawn before Stiles’ feet carried him to the space in front of Derek. Of course, he had no idea what he was going to do, he just knew he couldn't let Erica kill Derek. One, Derek wouldn’t kill her while any other option existed, two, if he did it would eat away at him, three, Stiles was pretty sure Erica and Boyd were a thing (Allison had mentioned noticing it from when she’d been on the warpath) and that Erica would kill Derek if she had to and that it would eat away at her as well.

“Stiles, get out of the way,” Erica begged. “I don’t want to hurt you, please.”

“You don’t want to hurt Derek either.”

“I don’t have a _choice_.”

“Yes, you do. You always have a choice.”

She shook her head minutely. “Not this time,” she whispered before going airborne. Derek grabbed Stiles and tried to shove him behind him, but she dropped to the ground before she reached them, blood spilling from her back. Stiles’ eyes weren’t fast enough to see it, but he knew it was Castiel. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did. His thoughts were confirmed when he glanced over his shoulder and saw a machete in the angel’s hand.

The leader’s eyes were locked on Castiel now, jaw clenching and unclenching. “What are you?”

Then Stiles and Derek were no longer at the warehouse, but on the opposite edge of town, both of them landed firmly on their asses. “What just—“

Stiles was cut off when Sam and Dean appeared behind them, on their feet somehow, and Dean shouted, “ _Damn_ it, Cas!”

The whole pack started popping up in twos. Isaac and Scott, Allison and Jackson, and lastly Peter and Cas. Isaac managed to keep his balance and righted Scott before he could land on the pavement, and Allison had gone down on one knee with Jackson, who was still bleeding out from the pipe that had gone clean through his torso. Stiles tried to shake the feeling of being teleported or flown or whatever.

Dean strode purposefully over to Castiel and shoved him back a few steps. “What the fuck was that?”

“We needed to get out.”

“Yeah, we did. And why did you suddenly find us incapable of walking out on our own two feet?”

“We were outnumbered, Dean. Jackson couldn’t have gotten away, Allison and Stiles wouldn’t have been fast enough—“

“ _So fly them outta there!_ Don’t go back in half a dozen times to get the rest out!”

“Dean, there’s nothing to get worked up about.”

“You don’t have that kind of juice anymore!” he shouted. “What if you crapped out while you were still in there? What then?”

“Dean,” Sam snapped. “Save it. He got us all out of the building, now let’s get out of town.”

Dean listened to his brother and started walking for the Impala across the street. Sam took a brief moment to give Castiel’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.

“Meet back at my place,” Derek said gruffly. And Stiles didn’t have time to grow more shocked because Derek was hauling him off to his Camaro.

 

* * *

 

In the middle of _Skin_ , she nearly jumped out of her skin (no pun intended) when someone knocked loudly on her door. She was prepared to yell at her mom, but when she opened it, it was Stiles standing there, hand raised, ready to hit the door again.

“Stiles, in case you didn’t hear from Jackson, I—“

“Yeah, you’re busy, sure.” He pushed his way past her and spun back around. “What the hell is going on? You don’t answer your phone, you tell Jackson to buzz off, and you don’t want to talk to me either. Did you miss the part where Isaac and Peter _found the alphas’ hideout_?”

“No, thank you, I was perfectly aware. Dean explained after you called.”

“Then why didn’t you come with?”

“Because I had other things to do besides get in the way of a supernatural rescue mission.”

“Do you even care about Erica and Boyd?”

“Honestly? I hardly know them, Stiles. And it sucks that they got pulled into this mess, but if I had other things to fucking do, I’m going to fucking do them. And it’s really not anyone else’s damn business is it?”

Stiles mouth hung open at her controlled outburst, indubitably astounded by her sudden language. He threw his hands up and turned to face away from her. “Fine. Fine you were…hey. What’s this?” He’d seen the open book lying on her bed and tilted his head to read the title. He turned narrowed eyes on her. “Lydia, why are you reading the _Supernatural_ series?”

She clenched her jaw and stuck out her chin. “Like I said. None of your damn business.”

“You know, you could just ask them—“

“Stiles? Get the fuck out of my room.”

“What the hell is your problem?”

She clenched her fists at her sides.

“I just need people to leave me the fuck alone for a while.”

Stiles threw his hands up. “Fine. If you want to go back to being a bitch, fine. We found Erica, by the way. She tried to kill Derek. They made her, said that if she didn’t, they’d kill Boyd. Nobody died, but your boyfriend got impaled, not that you’d care. Have a nice day, Lydia.”

He slammed her bedroom door and the front door on his way out. She thought it was safe to assume her mom wasn’t home.

The only other time she could think of when Stiles had yelled at her was when he’d said death didn’t happen to her, but everyone around her.

It made her think of Sam and Dean.

 

She finished _Home_ and found herself crying. How could John do that to them? Be right there, _right there_ , but hiding from his sons? Her fingers clenched the book, nails digging into the cheap cover with a terrible portrayal of the brothers.

How could he have just left them like that?

How could he have just left _her_?

 

Towards the end of _Faith_ , she looked up and saw Castiel standing a few feet in front of her, staring intently.

“Castiel!” she exclaimed.

He canted his head to the side. “Why are you reading that?”

She fought the urge to hide the book behind her back. This was an angel of the Lord, fallen or not, and what she was doing felt wrong somehow. Her lack of complete honesty undeniably had something to do with it.

“I—I was curious.”

He smiled softly at her. “Understandable. But there’s something else. Something you’re not telling them—or anyone, for that matter.”

She pressed her lips together and gnawed at them nervously.

“Secrets are never good,” he said. “Nothing positive ever comes of hiding things.” His expression seemed to say, _I would know._

“What if…what if it’s something you never told anyone? Ever? And if you do, if you say it out loud, it could…you feel like it might change everything?”

“Change isn’t always bad, Lydia,” he said, sitting beside her close enough that their thighs barely touched. She remembered Dean making sarcastic comments about personal space once or twice. Probably an angel thing. Or maybe just a Castiel thing. They sat in silence for a time.

“You know, it’s frustrating,” Castiel said eventually. “I used to know what you’re keeping secret. I know I used to know and I can’t remember. It’s most likely that it had something to do with the Winchesters.”

She looked at him in alarm. “Have you told them?”

“I have nothing to tell,” Castiel said. “I can’t remember. If I do, I probably will though. If it’s…salient.”

“Why’d you come here?”

“To your room or are you speaking in a broader aspect?”

“To my room.”

“Dean and Sam were concerned. And your absence is affecting Stiles’ behavior. Jackson is in a mood as well, and everyone seems to be generally off.”

“You were with all of them?”

“At the Hale residence, yes.”

“I thought Sam and Dean still wanted to kill Peter.”

“They still want to,” Castiel said bluntly. “But they won’t.”

“You want me to go back with you,” she guessed.

“I believe it would be beneficial.”

She took a deep breath. “Okay. How does this work? You didn’t get here in a car.”

“Close your eyes,” he said. “Dean says it helps to bend your legs.”

“Hold on a second.” She pushed the box of books into her closet and put _Faith_ under her pillow. “Okay, I’m ready.”

He reached out two fingers and pressed them lightly to her forehead.

 

“ _Jesus Christ!_ ” Scott jumped back several feet when they appeared a mere foot in front of him.

They were in the Hale’s living room—everyone, even Peter—and all of them were staring at her with unkind expressions and a few hateful ones, save Sam and Dean who were standing off in a corner. Lydia wished Castiel would’ve zapped them over there instead of the center of the room.

“Look who decided to show up,” Jackson said venomously, taking a few steps away from the wall.

She decidedly ignored him.

“Dean? Sam? Could I talk to you?” She didn’t wait for them to answer before she went outside. She kept walking, picking her way through the dark, until she was far enough away that she didn’t think any of the wolves would be able to hear.

“What is it?” Dean asked.

“I have to…there’s something I have to tell you. Something I should’ve told you sooner.”

Dean took a step closer, turning his head slightly to look at her sideways. “Like what?”

She patted her palms against her legs. “You know…Stiles lost his mom,” she said. Where had that come from?

“We figured as much,” Sam said. “What does that have to do with it?”

“It was an aggressive type of cancer,” she rambled on. “There was nothing they could’ve done to stop it. That’s why Stiles keeps his hair cut so short. Because of his mom.” She chewed her lip for a second. “And Jackson’s parents both died in a car crash. His mom was…she was dead. The doctors had to perform a caesarean section to save him. And Derek’s family was blown all to Hell because of Kate Argent, and Scott’s dad was no good and just up and left one day, but he was better off without him there, and Isaac’s mom died and that destroyed his dad, and Allison’s mom killed herself because she was bitten by Derek, but it was self-defense and him trying to save Scott and Allison’s in the process of forgiving him, so _please_ don’t stomp back in and freak out because they’d kill me if they knew I was telling you any of this.” She shifted her gaze between the two of them before continuing.

“Jackson wasn’t always a werewolf. When he first got the bite, he turned into something else: a kanima. It was like a lizard thing. He wasn’t in control of himself—literally, someone else was controlling him—and he killed people. But we fixed him that’s all you need to know and if you want details, I can tell you later or you can ask someone else.” She took a deep breath. “That and the part about Derek biting Victoria weren’t really relevant to what I’m about to say.

“My parents are divorced,” she continued. “It’s been several years now, but their marriage was never good. They tried holding it together for appearances, but that only worked for so long. See, the problem was, my mom had cheated on my dad. It was one time and she never saw the guy again, but it tore my family apart. _I_ tore them apart—I wasn’t my father’s daughter. That’s why I chose to stay with my mom, because I thought my dad hated me, or hated who I’d come from, which was bad enough.”

“Lydia, what does this have to do with anything?” Dean asked.

“You know my father,” she said. “Knew.”

Sam frowned. “We did?”

She closed her eyes before she said it. “My father was John Winchester. I’m your sister.”

 

Her words dropped like a bomb, and silence followed afterward, stretching on for a nerve-rackingly long time. “Say something?” she peeped.

“You’re our sister,” Dean said incredulously.

She nodded. “I was reading your book series. I stayed home because I was really starting to freak out and I just wanted to find out about you two because we’re actually _related_ and you hunt evil together and…and I was _mad_. I wasn’t when I first put it together, and I’m not now and I know it was irrational because you didn’t even know I existed and neither did John, to be honest, but I still felt so _abandoned_ , I couldn’t deal with it.”

“You’re sure?” Dean asked. “Absolutely positive?”

“There was Adam,” Sam said quietly. “Who says Dad didn’t have more than one fling?”

“Yeah, but he _visited_ him. It’s not like him to…”

“To what? You heard her, he didn’t know she was ever born. If her mom never called, how could he have?”

“How long have you known?” Dean asked.

“When you said John Winchester was your father. At the Argents’.”

“It could be a different John Winchester.”

“Dean, come on,” Sam said.

Lydia frowned. “Do you have a picture of him? I could show my mom.”

“Lydia, no offense, but that’s the last thing we need,” Dean said.

“I wouldn’t tell her where I got it,” she said, surprised they would even consider that. “I’d be careful about it.”

“Actually,” Sam said. “ _We_ could ask her.”

Dean gave his brother an Are-you-serious? look.

“We go as FBI, tell her we’re trying to track him down, and see if she knows him.”

“I like Sam’s idea,” Lydia said immediately.

“And if it’s a different John Winchester?” Dean asked.

“Then we can forget I ever said anything.”

“Alright.” Dean shifted his weight to his other leg. “Let’s do this.”

“Now?” It was Sam’s turn to give him an are-you-serious? look.

“Better to get it figured out and done with,” he said.

“I want to come with.”

The brothers turned their heads in sync to stare at Lydia.

“Is that a good idea?” Dean asked.

“I want to be there,” she said. “I’ll wait in the car, just…I need to be there.”

“I’ll get Cas,” Sam volunteered.

 

* * *

 

“Yes?” Ms. Martin opened the door and glanced between Sam and Dean. They’d taken the time to go back to the motel and change into suits.

“Good evening, Ms. Martin,” Sam said. “I’m Agent Washington, this is my partner, Agent Hedfield.” They flashed their badges briefly.

“How can I help you?”

“We’re looking for someone, and we believe you may have met him before. It would’ve been a while ago.”

Dean pulled a picture out of his pocket. “His name’s John Winchester. Recognize him?”

She took the picture delicately from him, perfectly manicured nails reflecting the porch light. Her jaw tightened when Dean said his name.

“Can I ask why you’re looking for him?”

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” Sam said. “We just think he might be in some trouble.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember ever meeting him.”

It would’ve been damn nice if Dean believed her.

“Are you sure? Take your time. We heard he was in town over ten years ago.”

She shook her head and passed the picture back to him. “I don’t know him.”

Sam nodded. “Thank you for your time. Have a good night.”

Heading back to the Impala, Dean said, “She was lying through her teeth.”

“I know.” Sam flicked his hair back. “So what d’you think?”

“I think the Winchester family tree just keeps getting bigger,” Dean said. “But we should find out for sure.”

“Maybe ask Lydia’s dad?”

“He wouldn’t have reason to lie.”

“She’s lying,” Lydia said when Sam and Dean got back in the car. Cas had said he would stay at the Hales’, despite Dean’s protests. He still didn’t trust the fucking werewolves.

“We know,” Sam said.

“Where does your dad live?”

“The other side of town,” Lydia said. “Are you going to ask him?”

“We just want to be positive,” Sam said.

Lydia’s father was more than happy to rat Sam and Dean’s father out.

“Yeah, I saw the guy,” he said. “He ruined my marriage.”

“How did he do that?” Dean asked.

“If I tell you, who else is gonna hear about it?”

“Not the public,” Sam promised.

“He got my wife pregnant. We’d been trying for several months, then this dick comes along and knocks her up and skips town the next day. I don’t want my daughter to become the talk of the town again—“

“Don’t worry, no one will find out about this,” Sam said reassuringly. “Do you know where he went?”

“No idea. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you find him. He is nothing but trouble.”

“Thanks for your time,” Dean said.

“So?” Lydia piped up from the backseat.

“Welcome to the family,” Dean remarked smartly.

“I’m not going to start wearing plaid every day now,” she said.

Dean smirked and pulled away from the curb. There were worse people who could’ve been his sibling.

 

Back at the Hales’, everyone was in the living room except Cas and Derek.

“Where’s Cas?” Dean asked.

“He’s in the kitchen with Derek,” Stiles said. Dean didn’t miss it when he and Lydia locked eyes for several seconds.

Cas was standing by the fridge and Derek by the stove, still looking somewhat uneasy. It wasn’t as if Cas was going to do anything to him, though Dean would’ve liked it if that wasn’t out of the range of possibility.

“Cas, did you know about Lydia?”

“What about her?”

“Not the immunity.”

“I know she has a secret. Or had, it would seem.”

Dean let out a breath of relief. Cas hadn’t been lying to them.

Lydia appeared by Dean’s side, Sam in tow. “Derek. I know you’re not overly fond of Sam and Dean, and you might get really pissed off when you hear this—”

“I’m not angry that you didn’t come with us,” Derek said. “In fact, it was a bit of a relief. What wasn’t okay was that you didn’t care about what happened,” he said.

“I know.” She tapped two fingers on Sam’s sleeve. “I did care, for the record. But that’s not what I need to tell you. Will you come into the living room? Please? Then I can just say this once.”

Cas was staring at Lydia’s hand on the sleeve of Sam’s suit so hard Dean thought it might burst into flames, and then a tiny, “ _Oh_ ,” escaped his lips. His eyes latched onto Dean’s. “I remember now.”

“And you didn’t think to ever tell us?” Dean said with a scowl, because of course Cas _used_ to know. He’d been hiding things from them before Purgatory. “Someone other than Adam?”

“It never came up,” he said. “Dean, Lydia is…this is much bigger than what you’re seeing. There are things she doesn’t know about herself, about her immunity—“

“You can tell me later,” Dean said. “We need to get in there.”

Cas grabbed Dean’s arm. “Are you angry with me?”

“Yes.” Dean heaved a sigh. “No. I just…I’m frustrated.” He wasn’t even sure _what_ he was, he just wished Cas would’ve told him about this before. Before the Leviathans, before working with Crowley. Around the time they met Adam would’ve been nice. It would’ve been easier to digest. “Let’s go.” He settled his hand at the small of Cas’ back, and when they walked in, Lydia started to speak.

“Well. I know I’ve been acting…odd since Sam, Dean, and Cas showed up, and yesterday I…I…oh, fuck it,” she muttered, running a hand once through her hair. “I’m Sam and Dean’s half-sister.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, sorry, sorry it's been so many months! I got super wrapped up in SPN and couldn't make myself write any TW stuff. But in the past couple of days, I have managed to figure out how everything is going to come together for the most part, so now things should be updated fairly often. (:

Stiles didn’t know why he wasn’t surprised. He should be, by all rights, Lydia fucking Martin- _Winchester_. But it was like two pieces of a puzzle he didn’t even realize he’d been working on had fallen together perfectly. Of course she was a Winchester. Of course she was. And when he thought that, why wasn’t he being sarcastic?

Derek had gone eerily still and Peter looked…worried? Perplexed? Neither of those made sense. Scott’s mouth was agape and Allison appeared…relieved. Stiles supposed that made sense—she wasn’t the only person there with hunter blood in her veins now.

“How long have you known?” Jackson asked, mouth barely forming around the words.

“For as long as I can remember. That’s why my parents divorced—I wasn’t my father’s child. When Sam and Dean told their story, I put it together.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” He sent a death glare her way that could’ve froze fire.

“Jackson—“

“No. You knew about my parents from the start—everyone did, but you knew _everything_. And now I find out _this_ —“

“ _Jackson_ ,” Derek snapped. “Calm down. Go outside.”

He stormed out, and after he was gone, Derek calmly asked, “Did you two know?”

“Not until she told us,” Sam said.

“What about the angel?”

“For God’s sake,” Lydia said with an exasperated eye roll. “His name is Castiel.”

“Fine. Did _Castiel_ know?”

“He didn’t,” Dean said at the same time Castiel said, “I did.”

Derek’s frown deepened. “Did he or did he not?”

“He didn’t know. He used to but he…he forgot.”

“How could he just _forget_?” Derek snarled.

“I’m falling,” Castiel said. “Or…I’m hovering, inches from the ground, from humanity. I don’t know why. But my mind doesn’t work the way it used to. All the information is there, just stored away in thousands upon thousand of compartments and finding things—remembering—takes longer.”

“So your brain is like a really cluttered room?” Scott asked.

Isaac muttered something about that being like Scott’s room.

“Something like that,” Castiel said. “Whereas everything used to fit on one page, now it’s been scattered across an unmanageable amount of paper.”

Derek opened his mouth to say something more, and Lydia said, “Can we just acknowledge it and move on, please?” It was more a demand than a request, coming from her.

“Let’s,” Peter agreed. “Lydia is the Winchesters’ sister. What we need to be worried about it the full moon coming up and getting Erica and Boyd back.”

The approaching full moon had been bouncing around in the back of Stiles’ mind for a while now. With Dean, Sam, and Castiel here, one screw up could mean someone losing their head. They were on their last week of school, and three days after that it was the full moon.

“Should we strike before or after the full moon?” Sam asked. “We know you’re at full power then, but do you come down right away, or is it gradual?”

Derek looked hesitant to share, so Stiles spoke up. “Derek, come on, if they wanted you dead—like, _really_ dead—you’d be six feet under by now, or a pile of salty ashes.” (Yes, the Winchesters had been sharing supernatural knowledge with Stiles and Lydia during training.)

“It’s a fairly immediate drop,” he managed. “But the full moon will put them in the best mood for murder.”

“What are we going to do about Erica?” Isaac asked.

“She made her decision,” Peter said. “She chose Boyd over the pack, like a lovesick pup.”

“Boyd is part of the pack,” Stiles argued. “We need to get her away from them.”

“Or,” Lydia said, “we grab Boyd and then their leverage is gone.”

“We still have to _get_ to Boyd,” Scott said. “We don’t even know where he is. Or if they’ll change locations.”

“They’ll stay put,” Dean said confidently. “Remember that vampire nest we took out with Dad?” he asked his brother, and received a nod. “These guys remind me of them. They found a place they like, they’ll stay there until they don’t feel like it anymore, think they don’t have to worry about petty threats. We should go tomorrow. The body count doesn’t need to be racked up any higher.”

In the time since the Winchesters and their angel had come to town, people hadn’t stopped dying. His dad was gone a lot, which made leaving the house easier, but in turn Stiles spent a good portion of his time worrying about his dad.

“We’ll need a plan of attack,” Derek said.

The ringing of Dean’s phone interrupted him.

“Kevin?...No, we’re working on something…He is too?...How long?...Wow, uh, I’ll send Cas.” His expression conflicted his words. Obviously did _not_ want to send Castiel. “Keep working, Kev.” He ended the call. “Cas, Kevin needs some stuff. Supplies are getting low and Garth’s working a case, so he can’t help him out. You think you could drop in, get him what he needs?”

Castiel nodded. “Of course.”

“Hey, wait—“ Dean stopped him just before he flew off. “Don’t take too long, okay? You did more than enough zapping around, I want you back here ASAP.”

“I’ll hurry.”

Derek narrowed his eyes after Castiel vanished. “Who’s Kevin?”

“Man, it’s so complicated I’m not even going to begin.”

Derek’s gaze didn’t lighten, so Sam said, “He’s a friend. Let’s just work on figuring out a plan for tomorrow.”

Derek nodded tersely. He sent Isaac to go get Jackson and they all gathered in the dining room (which was looking very nice now, by the way. Big, circular, chestnut table; dark red walls; trim that complimented the table) and Allison started off by asking, “Do we want to involve my dad?”

“Isn’t he after another blood-thirsty pack?” Scott questioned.

“I think he’d be willing to put it on hold,” Allison said. “We’re really close to finishing this.”

“No,” Derek said stubbornly. “He’s in the middle of something else, and he said he would let us handle this. We’re going to handle it. We don’t need any more people involved.” He gave Sam and Dean a pointed look and Stiles fought the urge to roll his eyes. Ridiculous sourwolf.

Fifteen minutes later, Dean was beginning to glance at the clock on the wall, somewhere between worried and impatient. Another fifteen minutes and they still weren’t anywhere closer to deciding on anything, but at least Castiel showed up. Stiles thought he saw Dean’s shoulders relax. The group continued (loudly) discussing and he went over to the angel. Stiles tuned out of the plan-chatting and into their hushed conversation because, yes, he was curious.

“How is he?”

“He’s…as well as he can be,” Castiel said. “He’s getting closer to translating the tablet, but it’s costing him. He’s pushing himself too hard. I told him to slow down, but he insists on continuing. He figures the sooner he gets it done, the sooner he can be done.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Dean said. “No one’s capable of agreeing on anything here, so this is gonna take a while. You get to catch some sleep.”

“Dean, don’t be absurd. I am not a child, I can go a little while without sleep—“

“Just humor me. Go lie down in the living room. Me and Sam’ll wake you up when everything’s figured out and we’re ready to leave.”

“Dean—“

“Don’t make this into an argument, Cas.”

Stiles couldn’t see it, but he could practically _hear_ Castiel rolling his eyes before he left the room.

“What’s he doing?” Jackson asked.

“He needs to rest,” Dean said curtly.

Thirty minutes later, Stiles had his arms folded and head resting on them because _they were going in fucking circles here_ and getting absolutely nowhere. Dean and Sam had their ideas, Derek had his, Peter had his, and Allison was thinking about it like a hunter, but different from the Winchesters. Lydia was leaning toward Sam and Dean’s ideas, but she could also see reason in Allison’s. Isaac liked Peter’s idea, but he didn’t want to dismiss Derek’s, and Scott didn’t want to agree with anyone, and Jackson would’ve sided with Lydia, except he didn’t like the Winchesters and he was being pissy about Lydia’s secret. Stiles, for one, was getting too tired to put up with the pack’s shit and thought he might go join Castiel in the living room for a nap. He’d been wondering why Dean got so upset about Castiel flying around so much today when he’d been darting around quite a bit during Stiles and Lydia’s training, but he thought maybe carrying other passengers took a lot of extra energy. That made sense.

“Did you hear that?”

Stiles lifted his head when silence fell over the room following Derek’s words.

 

* * *

 

Peter frowned and gave a nod, confirming Derek had indeed heard something. He told everyone to stay put, but no, Dean was not going to stay put—Cas was in the other room fast asleep. He followed Derek through the kitchen and then the guy took off too fast for Dean to follow. He had just enough time once he got in the living room to take in Derek throwing something out the window, and then _BOOM_ , there was a burst of light outside, sparks flying in the air. When Dean looked back at Cas, he was on his feet, eyes wide, staring at Derek. The rest of the pack was already crowding around.

“What they hell was that?” Dean yelled.

“A grenade.” Derek’s voice was calm, but his expression was screaming, _What the fuck?_

Dean tried not to think too hard about the fact that Derek had just saved Cas’ life, risking his own in the process. Throwing a grenade back out the fucking window. Fucking werewolves.

“They’re on the move!” Scott said, ears picking up things Dean’s couldn’t. Scott made a move for the door, but Peter grabbed his shoulder.

“Let them go. There are only two of them—this probably wasn’t their Alpha’s idea. We have other things to worry about. They couldn’t have meant any real harm with one small grenade.”

Dean’s fingers were clenched around a chunk of the back of Cas’ shirt, thinking about all the times he’d lost him, and how seconds ago that could’ve been it, he could’ve been gone again, but this time he wouldn’t come back.

Derek was staring at the two of them and Dean nodded once, pretty sure that Derek understood. _Thank you._

“Why don’t we come back tomorrow,” Sam suggested, eyes raking over Dean and Cas. “Early. And we’ll figure things out.”

Dean watched Derek’s eyes sidle over to Stiles’. “Why don’t you stay here,” he said after a weighty moment. “You said Castiel needed rest.” Stiles pushed Derek on with a raised brow. Derek closed his eyes briefly and held back an exasperated sigh. “We’ve got plenty of rooms upstairs. We made some renovations when we rebuilt everything. There’s no point in staying at the motel and wasting your money when we’re this close to wrapping up. Things will be…easier this way.”

In other words, Stiles wanted them to stay. And Stiles was apparently exceptionally good at getting what he wanted.

Everyone was still rather dumbfounded though. Sam stuttered out something about thanks, but said their stuff was still at the motel.

“Then Castiel can stay here and you two can go check out,” Stiles suggested.

Dean exchanged a look with his brother. He wasn’t leaving Cas here, regardless of whether or not Derek had just saved his life.

“I’ll go pack up,” Sam said.

Dean dug his keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Sam.

“Can we swing by my place?” Lydia asked. “I need to grab some things.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Isaac jabbed a finger at Scott’s shoulder and muttered something, and Scott glared at him and shook his head.

“Could I catch a ride, too?” Stiles asked. “I need a couple things.”

“Anyone else need a soccer mom to chauffer you around?” Dean asked with a somewhat exaggerated eye roll.

“I need to stop by my house, too,” Scott said grudgingly.

Stiles wondered if Derek had been expecting things to turn into one giant slumber party.

“Well, let’s go,” Sam said.

“Shotgun,” Lydia announced with a grin.

 

After they left, Derek gave a half ass sweep of his arm to the stairs. “Pick any room except the last on your right. You’ll know which ones are already being used.”

“Excuse my nephew’s manners,” Peter said, which was quite ironic coming from _him_. “I’ll start on dinner and let you know when it’s done if you want any.”

“Thank you,” Cas said, knowing Dean would say nothing, and if he did it would no doubt be crude.

“The bathroom’s the last door on the left,” Isaac said genially before disappearing into the kitchen with the rest of them.

“I’m not eating anything made by a bunch of werewolves,” Dean muttered.

“Dean, they can still hear you. And they eat the same things you do.”

“I don’t care,” Dean said in answer to both statements.

Cas shook his head. “Let’s go. They won’t start eating until Sam and the others return.” He took Dean by the elbow and towed him up the stairs. “We should share a room,” he said, peeking into one with dark blue walls. “So there will be enough vacant ones for the others.”

There were eight rooms total on the second floor, including the bathroom. The third one they looked in had wood paneled walls and two beds, and Cas stepped through the threshold to get a better look. “This one?” he asked, spinning to face Dean.

He shrugged. He didn’t really care, either way they were staying in a house full of werewolves.

“Sam can stay comfortably in this room as well,” Cas said, explaining his reasoning.

“Cas?” The angel turned to face him from across the bed. “It’s getting worse, isn’t it?” Dean knew Cas knew he was talking about him, his grace, the stuff that made him an angel.

He shrugged. “It’s been getting worse, Dean. You knew, I knew.” He smiled in a self-deprecating manner. “Ever since I took Sam’s hallucinations, especially since Purgatory. You can alter the future, but you can’t start a whole new one.”

“Hey—this is not gonna be twenty-fourteen. Not the one Zachariah zapped me to.”

“The world might be okay, Dean, but who says I will? I’m already crazy fifty percent of the time—“

“Damn it, Cas, you’re not. Every once in a while you have a…a relapse, an episode. That’s nothing we can’t handle.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “We’re not going to have this conversation. Not now. You need some shut eye.”

“I shouldn’t,” Cas muttered under his breath.

“I didn’t need super werewolf senses to hear that.”

Cas shrugged out of his jacket and laid on top of the blankets in temporary resignation. Dean had no doubt this would come up again at another time. He plunked down beside Cas, taking care not to get too close to him. His eyes followed the grain of wood on the walls for a time before he remembered something.

“What were you trying to say earlier?” he asked. “About Lydia and her immunity.”

“Suddenly you’re ready and listen and I just have to talk?”

“Cas, come on. I was being a dick, alright?” He stared at the back of Cas’ head, hair disheveled as usual, and fought back the familiar urge to kiss him. It was enough that Cas was alive and with him, he reminded himself. He didn’t need anything more.

Cas rolled over with a sigh to face Dean. “Keep your voice down so they can’t hear downstairs,” he said. “Do you remember Jesse Turner?”

“The Anti-Christ?” Dean scooted closer.

“Yes. And you know his mother was possessed by a demon when she was pregnant with him.” Dean gave a nod of confirmation. “How much do you know about nephilim?”

“Not much,” he said warily. “Why?”

“Because Heaven created something to go up against the Anti-Christ in case the need arose. It was purely a backup plan—”

“What—no. No way. Cas, come on. Lydia’s dad is my dad—“

“Do you think we’d use a low-ranking angel?”

“Are you saying _Michael_ —“

“Yes,” Cas said simply.

“Was my dad even aware? Did he even know he came to this town?”

Cas shook his head. “He had no recollection of it once it was done.”

“Is she even related to us? And how does that even work? She’s older than Jesse.”

“Yes, she’s still related by blood, and Jesse Turner was foretold in the bible. We knew it would happen and it was only a matter of time if things hadn’t already been set in motion.”

“Is she still human?” Dean asked.

“She’s fifty percent human. Her immunity is a result of the angel blood in her. The only thing she isn’t immune to is, obviously, anything angel-related.”

“Okay, but Jesse was making whack fairytales come true and he was only nine years old. Why hasn’t Lydia done any big time-magic stuff?”

“She doesn’t realize her abilities. That part of her has been separated from the rest. If the time came, Michael was supposed to lift the shroud from her eyes and an angel was supposed to be assigned to help her through it. But now, she could crack. And I can’t help her figure it out gradually because she didn’t come from my grace.”

“Maybe she’ll never find out,” Dean said hopefully, though he knew Winchester luck never went that way.

Cas looked at him dubiously.

“Yeah, okay. But we can’t do anything about it.”

Dean stood so he could lift the covers on his side and get underneath them, and Cas did the same. Dean waited until he was asleep, then reached his hand out just far enough for his fingers to barely touch Cas’ wrist, confirming he was still real, still there. Then Dean fell asleep, too.

 

* * *

 

When Isaac went to tell Dean and Castiel that supper was ready, he’d been expecting to find Dean sitting around, cleaning a gun or something, and maybe Castiel would be lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, or staring at an oblivious (or just used to it) Dean. What he hadn’t been expecting was for them both to be under the covers of the same bed—in a room with two—and Dean’s fingers laid over top of Castiel’s, bodies only inches apart.

It could’ve been seen as romantic to the naked eye, but upon closer inspection it was…innocent. Two best friends, lovers or not, that had been through everything, and here they were lying in bed together, wearing placid expressions in their sleep. Isaac was willing to bet they hadn’t fallen asleep like that, that it had been an unconscious thing for the most part. He didn’t think Dean would consciously get that close to someone unless he’d just finish having sex with them. But then again, maybe Isaac was wrong. These guys weren’t _just_ killing machines. They were people, with feelings, with histories so fucked up they made his past look like a happy one.

He almost didn’t want to wake them, but he shut the door and readied himself to knock. He knew Dean, at least, wouldn’t be pleased to be seen like that.

 

* * *

 

Dean woke up at a knocking on the door. “Supper’s ready,” came a voice from the other side. It could’ve been Isaac’s.

Before Dean could ask Cas if he was hungry, Cas said, “We’ll be down in a few minutes.”

There was the sound of muted footsteps as Isaac went back downstairs, and Castiel got out of bed to go look in the mirror. Dean’s eyes lingered fondly on him as he tried to rearrange his hair into something respectable.

“I remember when you first came here and your hair was always ridiculous.”

“Dean.”

“No, it was cute. In a bedraggled, morning-rush kind of way.”

“Angels are not cute.”

Dean smirked and stood, ruffling Cas’ hair as he passed him.

“Dean!”

Dean broke into a grin and ducked as Cas swung playfully at him. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d acted like this, even for a few minutes. It had happened at least once, three times at the most. He threw a pillow at Cas’ head, falling into a fit of laughter when it made flawless impact, making his hair even messier. Cas took a step toward him, disappeared, and suddenly Dean was being tackled from behind, two hands ruffling his hair.

“Dude, that is so cheating!” he said, trying to get a hold of himself but failing miserably.

They fell back onto the bed and turned into a tangle of limbs, and Dean didn’t even care that he couldn’t kiss Cas because Cas laughing and smiling (and not acting like a middle-aged business man with a stick up his ass or a druggy that had given up on everything) was more than enough for Dean.

He found the ticklish spot behind Cas’ knee and attacked, sending Cas into a giggle fit that was pretty damn adorable, though Dean would never admit to thinking so. Cas retaliated, going for under Dean’s arms, and once he’d started tickling, Dean was pretty much helpless.

“Cas—come on! I can’t—breathe!” Dean barely managed to get out the words between laughs.

Cas rolled off him a few seconds later, grinning, and they both took a minute to catch their breath.

“Whatever they made,” Dean exhaled, “it smells good.”

Cas sat up and Dean did the same, propping himself up on his elbows.

“I thought you weren’t going to eat anything made by a bunch of werewolves.”

“Shut up,” Dean said, shoving him playfully before getting to his feet.

 

* * *

 

Stiles was trying to come up with a reasonable explanation to the noises upstairs that didn’t involve Dean + Castiel – clothes = Sam said they weren’t involved like that. But could you really blame him? They were laughing and there was thudding and—

“Stiles, could you get the lasagna out of the oven,” Peter said at the same time Derek crowded him against the counter as he reached up to grab a stack of plates. Stiles’ chest did that stupid little fluttery thing teen romance novels always talked about and he tried to ignore the fact that Derek probably heard that. Stupid enhanced werewolf hearing.

Scott tossed a couple of hot pad holders at Stiles. He caught them and opened the oven, getting blasted with a wave of intense heat.

He and Scott had reconciled on the drive back into town, much thanks to Lydia. She’d sat by Sam in the front, leaving Stiles and Scott with each other’s company in the back. Then she’d refused to let them out of the car until they’d talked, and of course Sam went along with it, leaning against one door while Lydia leaned against the other. So Stiles talked and Scott talked and Stiles found out a little more than he’d been bargaining for. Like, Scott + Isaac = that thing Sam said Dean and Cas weren’t. And, okay, that explained some things, like the lack of pining between him and Allison. And for about 2.5 seconds, Stiles had been pissed that Scott had kept it from him, because _hello_ , best friends? But then he could understand how with everything going on Scott though it wouldn’t be appropriate to bring up.

In return, Stiles had mentioned what Lydia had told him—about him and Derek being good for each other—and Scott didn’t look too happy at first. He tried to convince Stiles that Lydia was wrong and that they didn’t make each other better, but then he took in Stiles’ expression (hell if Stiles knew what his face looked like) and got quiet.

“You like him,” he’d muttered, looking down at his hands.

“What? No! No, I do not like him.” Stiles looked down at his hands, too. _No. No, I do not. I do not._ But Stiles knew that was a load of crap and so did Scott. “But he doesn’t like me, so, even if I did, it wouldn’t matter.”

“He’s hard to read.” Stiles could barely hear his best friend.

After several moments of silence, Stiles knocked on the window and Lydia and Sam had let them out.

Stiles was setting the second lasagna dish on the table as Dean and Castiel came down the stairs.

“Take a seat,” Peter said with a gesture to the set table. “Oh! I almost forgot—Stiles, will you please get the salad out of the fridge?”

By the time he’d grabbed the salad, everyone had taken a seat at the table—four on each side, Peter and Derek on the ends.

“Come on, really?” Stiles groaned as he set the giant bowl on the table.

“Squeeze in on one of the ends,” Lydia said. “There’s plenty of room. Grab the chair in the corner.”

Stiles fought the urge to roll his eyes or stick his tongue out at her, because, yes, this was entirely Lydia’s fault. Now he had to sit by Derek. Not like that was necessarily a bad thing, but he just didn’t want to be bothered with having to think about it right now.

The chair scraped across the floor as he drug it over to sit at the corner between Dean and Derek.

There were several seconds of awkward silence before Lydia broke it with a forced, “So. Tomorrow’s chem final.”

“What? That’s tomorrow?” Scott’s jaw dropped open and Jackson rolled his eyes.

“Never lose your forgetfulness, McCall,” he said. “It’s one of your best qualities.”

“Let’s try to remain civil at the table, shall we?” Peter said suggestively.

And the rest of the dinner was. Civil. For the most part. Dean and Derek might not have exchanged many words, but at least they weren’t hostile. Scott and Isaac were flirting in a way that they probably thought was subtle, but now that Stiles knew about them, it was glaringly obvious. He found it a little weird that Jackson was sitting on one side of the table and Lydia on the other, but then again Lydia probably wanted to be near her half-brothers—they wouldn’t be staying forever. Before he could think too deeply about that, though, Derek’s elbow brushed his arm, sending a feathery sensation racing along his skin. They should go back to bickering more. Bickering was better than touching.

 

A little after ten, everyone was sprawled across the living room, drinks (mainly alcoholic) in hand, and the TV on. There was a bizarre civil atmosphere, but Stiles wasn’t going to question it. Maybe they were finally all going to get along. As for the moment, it was crowded, but it was homey.

“I’m going to pick up another couch this week,” Peter said before taking a swig of his beer. “Maybe another recliner. It’s getting to be a full house again.”

A tiny smile touched Derek’s lips, which was a rare occurrence and Stiles thought it especially odd given the context. The lack of bitterness probably had something to do with the lack of perfect sobriety.

“It’s like living in one of those Greek community houses,” Lydia said from where she was perched on the back of the couch, legs hanging down between Sam and Cas. “Except we don’t all live here, we just sort of…live here.”

Allison held up her bottle and pointed at Lydia with the same hand. “Excellent specificity.” She stumbled over the second word, taking a moment to get each syllable out correctly.

“You know,” Lydia said. “I was thinking earlier—the chemistry test made me think about it because college and chemistry both start with C—I don’t know if I want to spend another whole year in high school.”

“What?” Stiles gave her an are-you-crazy-? look. “You have to stay in school! You’re, like, a genius. You can’t quit.”

“School started to seem silly a year ago. Now it seems…pointless. Why be smart if you can’t use it?”

“I don’t think that made sense,” Scott said to no one in particular, tilting his head from across the room.

“What’s one more year?” Jackson said reasonably.

“One hundred and eighty days of my life I won’t get back,” Lydia retorted. “Besides, Isaac doesn’t go to school anymore.”

“He’s a werewolf,” Jackson said.

“And I have hunter blood in my veins,” Lydia said, wriggling her fingers.

“Allison’s a hunter, too,” Stiles said.

“Yeah, but that’s…different. I don’t know. I just feel like I could be doing other more useful things with my time.”

Stiles stared into his drink, wishing it held all—or at least some—of the answers. Of course Lydia would want to leave. She was always better than them, always separate. Her immunity, the fact that she’d been left out of the loop for so long, and the fact that she was…Lydia. Stiles couldn’t explain it all. And it made Stiles feel strange, knowing that if she left, he would leave with her. He didn’t even know where that knowledge came from, he just…knew. His brain felt fuzzy, the lines that usually kept certain thoughts away from others were getting flimsy, allowing him to think about things he usually didn’t. Did Lydia want to go with the Winchesters? Was that what she was implying? Stiles got the distinct feeling they were already sort of a full house. And he was pretty sure Lydia was aware of that, too.

Why was he even going there? She was talking about dropping out of high school, not leaving Beacon Hills. Wasn’t she? He was drifting from the conversation.

“Well,” Allison said, standing from where she’d been sitting on the floor with only a slight wobble, “I think I’m gonna turn in early and head home.”

“No, you’re not,” Lydia said, shaking her head. “ _You_ have been drinking.”

“Thanks, Grandma, I think I’ll be fine.”

“Yes. Here. You’ll be fine here.”

Derek threw his hands up, a half-hearted gesture to keep up the appearance that he still cared. “Everybody check in to the Hale Hotel. Don’t ask, don’t pay, just walk right in.”

“See?” Allison said. “It’s rude.” Derek, of course, knew Allison knew he’d been kidding. And Allison knew Derek knew she knew. He knew she knew. Knew knew. Stiles giggled to himself and Dean shot him a weird look.

Stiles liked Dean. He liked both the Winchesters, and Cas, despite the fact that they’d all been ready to kill his friends. Just a misunderstanding. He didn’t even know why he was fond of their presence. Maybe he was biased because he’d read their books.

“I brought some sweats that should fit you,” Lydia said. “They’re in my bag. You’re welcome.”

Allison rolled her eyes. “In that case, I guess I’ll be going to bed. Goodnight, everyone.” She grabbed Lydia’s bag at the foot of the stairs and disappeared up the stairwell.

“Isaac fell asleep,” Stiles observed.

Scott nudged him with his foot. “Isaac. Wake up.”

Isaac blinked his eyes open but didn’t look very awake.

“You ready to hit the hay?” Scott asked him.

“Yeah,” Isaac muttered blearily. “Good night.” There were several chuckles as he stood and headed upstairs.

Scott got to his feet, too. “If there’s a chem test tomorrow, I should probably get some sleep too.”

Jackson took a moment to stare at his drink before saying, “For once, I think McCall actually has the right idea. Lydia?”

“Give me a few minutes,” she said.

As Jackson made his way up the steps, Stiles noted that the two seemed a lot less hostile towards each other.

Peter stood and announced, “Anyone who chooses to stay awake can come to the kitchen and help with dishes,” which took care of the majority of those remaining pretty quickly.


End file.
